


The Dawn of Skyrim

by Nedearb96



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold Questline, Dawnguard DLC, Dragonborn DLC, F/M, Skyrim Main Quest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nedearb96/pseuds/Nedearb96
Summary: Darkness is spreading over Skyrim. Evil forces are combining for the destruction of the land. A young man must step forward and unite a warring country against the true enemy before the land is turned to nothing but ash and dust, and all is devoured by the World-Eater.





	1. Darkness Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I hope you all enjoy my fic! I just wanted to make a quick note and mention that though a lot of the story is going to be familiar, there are going to be some changes to the world of Skyrim in my writing. One of the biggest things you'll probably notice is that it feels a little bigger than the game, or at least I hope it will. There will be some other changes as well along the way, and I just wanted to give you all a heads up. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Thanks for all your support!

****4E 185

Night had fallen as Soreld and his men prepared to set up camp for the night. Thick, wet mist writhed around them as they struggled to light torches and fires. They had marched hard through the day; they had textiles to deliver to Radiant Raiment in Solitude, and Soreld didn’t want to be late. The sisters who owned it, Taarie and Endarie, were rude women. They were even less pleasant to deal with when they felt inconvenienced. Hence, they marched all day, every day, to get to Solitude on time. Soreld did have a reputation to uphold.

Though the work could be very stressful, Soreld loved what he did. He took pride in being a well-trained swordsman. Soreld knew many of the shopkeepers and merchants in and around Whiterun, and he worked with them to keep their caravans safe as they sent their goods to other places.

Whiterun was a wonderful place for commerce due to its location right in the middle of Skyrim. Its plains held plenty of room for farmers to grow crops, and other needed resources and materials from the forests and mountains weren’t far. There were many travelers who passed through needing to purchase goods. Other cities didn’t have the same resources that were found in Whiterun, so they would do business with the merchants there. Therefore, Soreld spent a lot of time traveling with various caravans to make deliveries.

There weren’t many others who got the opportunity to see Skyrim as much as Soreld did. He loved the natural beauty that was found there. The many forests, streams, rivers, and mountains were often breathtaking, even though he had seen them countless times.

He loved to see the people. Though most of Skyrim was inhabited by the Nords, one could still find plenty of other people and races who called Skyrim their home. Soreld always took time to learn about the different cultures that existed around Tamriel; he spent as much time as he could visiting with people at inns and taverns to hear stories of other lands.

Soreld joined some of his men in removing the tents from the wagons. Fires were started for the cooks and others began taking care of the horses for the night. The smell of stew started to waft through the camp as the men finished their duties. Soreld’s stomach began to growl at the smell. He secured his last tent stake and then joined the rest of the men for dinner.

After finishing his meal, he sat back and listened to the murmur of talking and laughing. Singing and dancing began as some of the men pulled out their instruments. After a while, Soreld was reluctantly forced to move away from the camp to take up guard. He grabbed his cloak to fight away the biting chill in the air.

He loosened his sword in its sheath and pulled the cloak tight against him. The light of Masser cast a dim glow on the forest floor beneath. Soreld strained his eyes against the shadowy night. Suddenly he noticed a pinpoint of light further into the marshes.

Soreld whistled for one of his men to join him.

“Do you see that glow out there?” he asked.

“Aye, I see it.”

“I’m going to go take a look. You stay here and watch for me till I return. I’ll signal if I require any assistance.”

The man nodded and took up his position. Soreld crept out into the forested marsh. He soon came upon a clearing in the trees. Before him stood a small village--or the remnants of one. The houses were all ablaze, heat rolling off of them in suffocating waves. He stared in horror at the sight and yelled for his men to come.

While Soreld waited he began to search the burning village for any survivors. He tried to find places in the flames that would allow him to get in, but the fire was too powerful. The houses were nothing but fuel for its raging flames.

When the men finally arrived, they stopped and gathered together, awestruck by the flames. Soreld gave the command to look for survivors. Soon two of his men returned covered in soot.

“Captain, you had better come and see this.”

Soreld followed his men around the corner of an outlying house. Within the flames were multiple piles of twisted and mangled bodies, all of them blackened and burned past the point of recognition. The stench of human flesh mingled with the heavy smoke rising into the dark sky, and tears filled Soreld’s eyes as he gazed upon the nightmarish scene.

The smoke grew thick in Soreld’s lungs. It gave him an excuse to walk away from the sight. Suddenly, he noticed a small boy sitting a few yards away, staring into the flames. The dancing orange light revealed tracks of tears that washed away the layer of grime covering his face. Soreld softly approached the boy and kneeled down beside him.

_How did he survive?_ he thought to himself.

“Son, what happened here?” Soreld asked.

The boy looked ahead without a word.

“We need to know what happened here! How did you survive?”

The boy continued to look ahead. Soreld sighed, and he began to rise to talk to his men about what they should do. But as he stood, the boy spoke.

“They’re dead. All of them. It’s all my fault.”

“What do you mean son?” Soreld asked anxiously.

“I killed them.”

* * *

Morna sat in a dim chamber contemplating their next move. Their work to cleanse the world had begun. She would make sure that when her master returned, this world would be ready for his reign, no matter what. The door at the end of the room opened as several of her men entered.

“Is it done, Volk?” she asked.

“It is, Caller. The village has been burnt to the ground,” answered Volk. He was a scrawny man with greasy black hair and a scar that ran over his blinded left eye. His voice rasped as he spoke, like the sound of two stones being rubbed together.

“Any survivors?”

“No. We killed every last one of them.”

A grin split Morna’s face. “Good. Our master will be pleased,” she cackled.

“How should we proceed?” Volk asked.

Morna thought for a minute before she responded.

“We can’t be too quick to attack another village. We don’t want to become a noticeable threat to Skyrim,” she mused. “Spread yourselves throughout Skyrim and find more to join the fold. Learn all you can of the ancient magic that will help us in conquering and cleansing the world. We must be ready for the return of our master. We have to make sure that the world is ready to bow to his will.”

“It will be done,” said Volk.

Just then the door opened again as a woman entered.

“Your guests have arrived, Caller,” she informed.

“Send them in,” Morna responded as she excused the others.

Two figures entered the room as the last of Morna’s men left. The first was a Nordsman. He wore a scarlet red shirt covered by a wicked looking leather cuirass. His eyes shone red, and he had a regal, arrogant air about him. The other figure was dressed in a dark brown robe, along with a pauldron, bracers, and mask that all seemed to be made of bone. They both approached Morna as she rose to greet them.

“My friends! I’m so glad you could join me!” she exclaimed. The man in the mask simply scoffed in response.

“This better be worth my time, witch!” snapped the Nord.

“I can assure you it will be, Lord Harkon,” replied Morna. “I have a proposition that will benefit us all for years to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter! This is my first fanfic, and I'm excited to share it with all of you. Please feel free to comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again!


	2. New Beginnings

Sun’s Height, 4E 195

Alorn stared intently at the flames in his hands. Its red and orange tongues licked hungrily at the air while dancing in intricate patterns. He didn’t consider himself a mage, but he was able to do some interesting things with magic. He took pleasure in those abilities, and he used every moment he could to practice them. He really wasn’t able to do much. He could only produce flames in his hands and heal minor wounds and scrapes. As he continued to watch, a voice called for him, and he turned around to see his old man.

“That’s a pretty neat trick you’ve got there,” the old man said. “Have you been practicing?”

“Yeah, a little bit. I’m finally getting good at keeping it controlled in my hand,” Alorn replied.

Images flashed through his mind of all the times that he had accidentally burned something because of his lack of control. One of the worst times was when he had caught one of the wagons of their caravan on fire and lost all of its goods. Luckily, the flames didn’t spread to any of the other wagons, but it still had been a huge loss. Alorn had known that the buyer wasn’t going to be happy, but his father never stopped encouraging him to practice.

“It’s a special gift you’ve been given. If you learn to control it, you’ll be able to bless many lives,” his old man had told him.

So Alorn kept practicing.

“That’s good to hear! You’ll have to start helping us light our fires at night now. Just don’t burn anything down,” his father said with a wink.

“I won’t,” Alorn assured him, getting up to help take down camp.

Alorn was 17 and nearing manhood. His father had started involving him more in their work. He had been riding along for years now, but he hadn’t always been helpful. Since the old man had never married, Alorn wasn’t ever able to stay at their home in Whiterun. That hadn’t really bothered him. He enjoyed being able to travel to different cities and see the world.

These trips allowed him to spend time with his father and learn from him. Over the years he had gained a multitude of skills. His father was a particularly accomplished swordsman, and Alorn loved the time they spent training.

“Never view the blade as just a tool. You cannot disassociate yourself from it if you are ever going to master it,” his father had taught. “It’s not enough to simply control the weapon. You must learn to move with it, become one with it. Fighting with the sword takes a connection of the mind and body. When you have mastered that, then you have mastered the sword.”

Alorn did not yet have that kind of control, but he was improving. He was starting to match some of the men that worked for his father. Their wide variety of weaponry made them exciting to spar with as well. Alorn preferred the sword himself, but he had practiced against men who used single and two-handed axes, spears, daggers, and broadswords.

He continued to help take down camp, and they were soon ready to be on their way. They had recently made a trip to Riften and were headed back to Whiterun. They had passed the town of Ivarstead and were headed north. Whiterun lay northwest of where they were, but the Throat of the World stood in their way. It was the tallest mountain in all of Tamriel and most people didn’t use it for travel. Those who did climb to the top took the Seven Thousand Steps. It was a spiritual journey for many, but it wasn’t fit to bring caravans across. They would have to navigate around the large mountain to get back home.

* * *

Two days later, Alorn, his father, and the other men approached the walls of Whiterun. They came to their stables outside of the city and began to unload the wagons. After everything had been put away the men dispersed and returned to their homes.

“Great trip, Soreld!” one of the men called out to Alorn’s father.

“Indeed, it was! Tell your wife and children hello for me,” Soreld replied.

As the men returned home Soreld watched them go. Alorn watched him, admiring the way the men looked up to him. He cared deeply about his men, and they respected him immensely in return. Many of them had had hard lives, but Soreld had helped to lift them up. He had befriended them and aided them through those troubled times. He taught them discipline and to be men of honor. Alorn looked up to him for it. He had heard many of their stories.

“My friend had been distracting him while I prepared to snatch his purse,” explained one of the men. “As I pulled the purse away, he whipped around and grabbed me by the wrist. He said, ‘I’m more than happy to give you some money, son. All you need to do is ask.’

“I was shocked! I didn’t know how he knew I was there. Before I could ask, he offered to let me work for him. He said he’d train me to do the work, and he was willing to help me make a living. It was more than anyone had ever done for me in my life. I was scrambling just to live day after day, and no one seemed to care. But he did.”

Other stories had similar endings. The circumstances were all different, but each of the men had been helped by Soreld in some way during their lives. Alorn was proud to call the man his father.

The city of Whiterun was a majestic place. It had been built on the plains and then made its way up the side of a hill, with a large palace at the top. A high wall surrounded the city with worn battlements and towers. The path that led to the front gate was surrounded by natural rock formations which had large archery towers built on them. Another wall had been erected between the small ravine path that led into the city and a large drawbridge guarded the way.

The inner city was even more beautiful than its outer walls. It was split into three separate tiers, or districts, to organize the city. The first was called the Plain District, and it was dedicated to commerce. Multiple shops and stores were spread throughout the district, along with many inns and taverns. The second was the Wind District which held all the residences in the city. The homes closest to the Plains District where generally poorer. However, the closer you got to the last tier, the richer the homes became. The last area was the Cloud District, and it held the great palace of Dragonsreach, the home of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater.

They walked into the city and made for their home. The streets bustled with people as they moved from shop to shop with the chatter of voices floated through the air.

Arriving at their home, Alorn headed to his room and put his gear away into his chest. He walked back into the front room and sat down, taking in his surroundings. Their home was a quaint place, nothing fancy. It consisted of the front room and his room on the first floor, and a storage room and his father’s room on the second. As you entered the house you were greeted by the warmth of the fire. The rest of the house extended about 25 feet until you got to the stairs. In the very back was the table and a few cupboards which were filled with plates and bowls, along with an assortment of beverages and foods. A drying rack hung above the fire with different herbs and meats.

Alorn heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and he turned to see his father approaching.

“Did you have a good trip, son?” the old man asked.

“I did. I really enjoyed the trip to Riften. I like the walk around the Throat. It’s a very beautiful area,” Alorn replied.

“Good! You’re doing exceptionally well at helping in the caravan. It’s been good to have you on the crew. The men enjoy your company too.”

Alorn smiled to himself. The men really had seemed to enjoy his company. They had all known him since he was a boy, but they were starting to treat him like a man now. He enjoyed being able to join them in their conversations and help with the work.

He looked down at his hands, pondering over some of the other things that had been preoccupying his thoughts.

“Pa, I don’t know what to do about my magic. Honestly, sometimes it still scares me,” he said.

“I don’t know, son. Magic isn’t a realm that I have a lot of knowledge about. Many people have such a distrust towards it. I will say that it can be, and has been, the cause of a lot of destruction. Lives have been ruined because of that power. To me, it isn’t any different than any of the other tools men use. Thousands of lives have been taken in a matter of seconds by the sword. Yet, we don’t hesitate to use them for our benefit.

“Those tools are only dangerous in the hands of those who seek to exercise power over others. Magic is no different. Its nature isn’t evil or malicious. The problem starts with those who seek to use that power to rule over others and get gain. So, don’t let your powers lead you to fear. You are a good man. Use them as a tool to help others find happiness and safety.”

“How do I learn to do that?”

After pausing a moment to think, Soreld answered, “I know Jarl Balgruuf’s court wizard, Farengar. I’ve done some things to help him on occasion as a favor, and I don’t think it would be too much to ask one in return. I know he doesn’t consider himself a great teacher, but he can help. Tell him I sent you, and maybe he’ll take you on as his apprentice.”

Alorn looked at his father. Soreld’s eyes were full of love and encouragement. He reached over and pulled Alorn into a tight embrace.

“I love you, son. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you too, Pa,” Alorn replied.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this story, I wanted Skyrim to have a much bigger feel than it does in the game. I have just felt like the game, for obvious reasons, wasn't able to capture the full size of the country, so I tried to describe things in a way that makes it feel bigger. So if my descriptions don't match exactly what the game is like, that's why. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it. Take care!


	3. The Apprentice

Sun’s Height, 4E 195

Alorn stood alone atop the Western Watchtower. The great plains of Whiterun rolled below him and in the distance was its capital city. Its worn towers stood proud against a bright blue sky. A warm breeze carried the smell of late spring with it. Alorn closed his eyes and savored the warmth and beauty around him.

“It’s quite amazing, isn’t it?” a voice whispered.

Alorn’s eyes shot open in alarm. A man stood next to him gazing from the tower. He was taller than Alorn, and he was clothed in dark blue robes. Golden armor adorned his shoulders and forearms, along with a golden mask. It resembled some kind of creature that Alorn had never seen before.

“It will never stand,” the man said menacingly.

In an instant, the sky went dark. A rushing sound filled the air. The noise grew louder and louder till suddenly a large creature rushed overhead. It circled the city of Whiterun once and then descended upon it. Fire blasted from its maw, and buildings burst from the heat. Screams ripped through the air as chaos fell upon the city.

“Soon it will burn.”

Alorn woke with a start, a cold sweat running down his forehead. He looked around the room and saw the morning sun shining through the window. He got out of bed and poured some water in his wash basin to rinse the sweat off. What could have alarmed him so much? He knew he had been dreaming, but he couldn’t remember anything.

After he had finished cleaning himself off, Alorn got dressed and made his way into the front room. His father had already left for the day, but he had left some stew over the morning fire along with a letter of recommendation.

 _That’s right, the meeting,_ he said to himself. He had been looking forward to meeting with Farengar about a possible apprenticeship. But now he just felt sick about it. Doubts and fears started to bombard him. Why should Farengar consider teaching him? What did he have to offer? What knowledge did he even have about magic? What if he couldn’t control it? Images of blackened corpses and burning homes began to overwhelm him.

 _Stop! That wasn’t your fault,_ he reminded himself. _You can do this. You need to do this._ Fighting back the fears and the sickness, Alorn ate some stew, grabbed his father’s letter and headed out the door.

Alorn breathed in the cool morning air as he made his way toward Dragonsreach. The smell of bread and sweetrolls filled the air from the bakeries nearby and morning birds sang their beautiful tunes. Alorn wound his way through the streets of the Wind District. It was a wonderful, clear morning, and his heart felt a little lighter as he walked along.

He finally made his way to the base of the stairs that led up to Dragonsreach. As he came to the top of the stairs, one of the palace guards stopped him.

“State your business,” he commanded.

“I’ve come to speak with Master Farengar, sir,” replied Alorn.

“And what business do you have with Master Farengar?”

“I wish to become his apprentice.”

“Master Farengar has no interest in taking on apprentices. He’s already turned away several others,” the guard said with a dismissal.

“But, my father sent me to speak with him! Please, allow me to ask him myself,” Alorn plead as he reached to hand the guard his father’s letter.

“Let the young man in,” a voice called from behind.

Alorn turned to see Jarl Balgruuf the Greater himself approaching surrounded by his honor guard.

“Yes, sire.”

The two guards stepped aside and allowed the Jarl and Alorn to pass.

“And what interest do you have with Farengar, young master?” the Jarl asked as they entered the palace.

“Uuh, I wish to become his apprentice, sire. My father sent me to request his help.”

“I see. To be truthful, I can’t remember the last time that Farengar had an apprentice if he ever has. But don’t let that stop you.”

“Thank you, sire!” Alorn replied excitedly.

“You’ll find his study up the stairs and to the right, just past one of the dining tables. I hope your conversation goes well, young man.”

Alorn went as directed, and he found an alcove filled with a few tables and bookshelves. At the back of the room, there was an enchanting and an alchemy table. A man in blue robes stood in front of the enchanting table with a dagger placed on it. After a few moments, a soft red light outlined the shape of the blade and then disappeared. The man picked the dagger up and then placed it in a sheath on his belt. As he turned around he noticed Alorn watching from the alcove.

“Come to Dragonsreach to discuss the ongoing hostilities, like the rest of the ‘great warriors’?" he asked.

“No,” replied Alorn. “I’m actually looking to learn more about magic, and how to use it.”

“A prospective student, are you? Well, I’m afraid I’m not much good at teaching. You should try your luck at the college of Winterhold.”

“Winterhold? But, my father sent me to talk about working with you.”

“And who is your father?” Farengar asked in an annoyed tone.

“Soreld,” said Alorn.

“I see,” answered Farengar. “Well, I’m fond enough of Soreld, but I’m afraid I still can’t help you.”

“But, Master Farengar…!”

“But what? I’m a very busy man. I don’t have time to deal with you.”

“What if I helped you?” Alorn interjected.

“What?”

“What if I helped you? What if I helped you with some of your basic chores? I’m a good worker. I would do anything you asked.”

Farengar furrowed his brow.

“You’d do anything?” he asked.

“Anything.”

“No matter how menial it may seem?”

“Absolutely! But in return, you teach me more about magic.”

After a moment longer of considering Farengar finally threw his hands into the air.

“Fine, I’ll take you on as my apprentice! But my work comes first. And you do as I ask you to do, without complaint. It won’t always be glorious, but I’ll teach you.”

“Thank you so much, Master Farengar! I promise I’ll do exactly as you ask! You won’t regret this!”

“We’ll see about that. For now, I need you to run to Belethor’s General Goods store. He has a book for me there that I ordered, and I need you to retrieve it. Also, I have some frost salts for Arcadia. She asked me to obtain them for one of her potions. You can start with that. Oh, and take this purse here. You’ll need to pay for that book when you get there. I wouldn’t trust Belethor with my money till the book got in. I’ll write a letter for you to give to Belethor as well so that he knows you’re getting it for me.”

Alorn nodded with a smile, grabbed the purse, the letter and the frost salts and took off. He hurried out of Dragonsreach and started toward the Plain District. He laughed to himself as he considered what he had done. This man had never been willing to train anyone else who had come to him in the city, but he had decided to take Alorn as an apprentice.

At bottom of the stairs, a few men sat beside their handcarts. The city was big enough that a popular way of transportation was by these handcarts. It allowed you to move a little more quickly and carry more with you if needed. So Alorn made his way to one of the carts.

“I need a ride to Belethor’s General Goods please.”

“Alright, hop on in,” one of the men replied.

When they arrived at Belethor’s Alorn paid for the ride and made his way into the store.

“Good morning, young master! And what can Oi do fer ya this fine mornin’?” Belethor asked.

“I’m actually here to pick up Master Farengar’s book that you ordered for him,” answered Alorn. “I’ve got a letter from him and the money as well.”

He handed the letter to Belethor who took it out to inspect it. After he had finished reading, Alorn handed him the money. Once Belethor had counted it up he nodded with a smile and moved to the back of his shop.

“Everythin’ looks in order. Give me just one moment. Oi’ll get that book right quick. So, what are ya up to helpin’ ol’ Farengar?” the man asked.

“He’s taken me on as his apprentice,” Alorn replied.

“Ya don’t say! Never thought that damn prick would ever allow anyone to work under ‘im. Always turned everyone away. So, ya know some magic do ya?”

“A little,” Alorn responded has summoned some flames.

“Mighty impressive young master! All right, here’s the book. Now, what was yer name?”

“Alorn, sir.”

“Well, nice to meet ya Master Alorn. Take care, ya here!”

“Will do. Thank you, sir,” Alorn replied with a smile.

He made his way to Arcadia’s Cauldron just next door. As he walked in, the smell of different herbs drifted together and made his head spin for a time. Arcadia was moving things around on the back shelves, so Alorn cleared his throat to get her attention.

“Oh, hello. How can I help you?” Arcadia asked.

“Actually, I came to help you. Master Farengar wanted me to deliver some frost salts to you for a potion you wanted to make.”

“Oh, yes! That! Those are for a love potion I’m trying to create!” Arcadia replied excitedly.

“A love potion?” Alorn asked.

“Yes. A love potion. I hope I can get it working! It would be quite the discovery. I might even have to try it on that master of yours,” she said with a twinkle in her eye and laughed.

Alorn chuckled uncomfortably with her.

“Thank you for bringing those by. Give Farengar my thanks as well.”

“Will do ma’am!”

Eventually, Alorn made his way back to Dragonsreach. He found Farengar deep in the study of one of his books. Another stack of books sat in front of him as well.

“Those books are for you to start studying,” he said without looking up. “They touch on the beginner level spells of each school of magic, and how to correctly cast them.”

“School of magic?” asked Alorn.

“Yes, school of magic,” Farengar snapped. “A school of magic indicates the type of magic that is being cast. There are five schools: alteration, conjuration, destruction, illusion, and restoration. The School of Alteration focuses on the manipulation of the physical world. The School of Conjuration is used to raise the dead, summon creatures from one of the planes of Oblivion, and soul trap opponents killed in combat. The School of Destruction involves harnessing the energies of fire, frost, and shock for battle. The School of Illusion focuses on manipulating the mind for different purposes for a short period of time. And the School of Restoration deals with the healing of others, magical defense, and fending off the dead.

“There is also, of course, the skill of enchanting items to have magical properties to help you as well, but we won’t be focusing on that for some time. First, you need to have a stronger magical foundation before you can begin thinking of doing that. For now, I want you to read through the introductory chapters of each of those books. Then, for the next month or so, I want you to choose a spell from each school that you will work on mastering. I will give you pointers from time to time if you need them, but I am mostly leaving this up to you to learn. Am I understood?”

“Yes sir,” Alorn replied.

“Very well. You are dismissed for the day to study. Be sure to also take thorough notes of what you are learning. I want to examine what you comprehend so that I can see how to best help you. If you’re going to learn magic from me, you’re going to do it right. Now off you go.”

Farengar waved absently, so Alorn gave a small bow and headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I hope everyone is doing good. I'm excited for Alorn to start his journey to become a mage! It's going to be good. Feel free to leave your thoughts. Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Betrayal

Last Seed, 4E 195

Alorn read by the light of his Magelight spell. It had been a couple of weeks since Farengar had taken him on as his apprentice. During that time Farengar had done little to teach magic. Alorn spent most of his time reorganizing books, transcribing old scrolls and notes, and cleaning Farengar’s chambers. Between his work with Farengar and the chores he had to do at home, Alorn only had time to study at night. He had stayed up into the late hours of the night many times to read the chapters Farengar had assigned him to study.

Through his late-night studies, Alorn had quickly excelled at the beginning level fire and healing spells, as well as the Magelight spell. However, summoning bound weapons and Clairvoyance didn’t come so easily. He had read over the chapters for illusion and conjuration multiple times, but he still didn’t understand what he was doing wrong.

At the moment he was pouring over his beginning conjuration book, attempting to understand bound weapons. The book stated that smaller weapons were easier to summon, but it didn’t seem to make a difference to Alorn whether it was a knife or a large battle-axe. Both weapons appeared to elude him. Regardless, he put the book down, placed the Magelight just above his head in the air and tried to summon a simple dagger. Still, nothing happened. He slumped down on to his bed. What was he missing?

He began reading again, trying to figure out the spell. He awoke suddenly the next morning with an ache in his neck. When had he fallen asleep? What time was it? He looked at the window to see that the sun had risen quite high in the sky.

 _I’m late!_ he thought to himself. He gathered his books, threw them into his satchel, and bolted out the door. He ran all the way to Dragonsreach, and only stopped outside briefly to compose himself. After he had caught his breath, he entered the palace and made his way to Farengar’s study.

“You’re late,” Farengar said as he worked at his alchemy table.

“I apologize, Master Farengar. I was up late studying,” Alorn responded.

“And what were you studying?”

“I was trying to figure out how to summon the bound weapon. I’ve read the chapter over and over again, and I’ve tried to do what was instructed. I just can’t seem to do it,” Alorn said impatiently.

“I see. Well, that will have to wait. How much do you trust me?” asked Farengar.

“What?”

“I really don’t like repeating myself,” Farengar snapped.

“What is it you want me to do?” Alorn asked, hesitation filling his voice.

“I want you to take this potion, and then I’m going to blast you with fire.”

Alorn stared at Farengar with amazement.

“Well…?” Farengar asked.

“I…guess I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

“There’s a good lad!” Farengar replied excitedly.

Feeling very confused, Alorn finished the potion and a freezing sensation filled his entire body. It felt as though all of his blood had turned to ice.

“Now, you need to tell me when you feel the heat. The minute you start to become uncomfortable, let me know,” Farengar instructed.

Alorn nodded, still not quite understanding the purpose of this experiment and feeling very frightened. Farengar lifted his hands, and a large column of fire erupted from them and washed over Alorn. He squeezed his eyes shut with a yelp on his lips, but he stopped himself. He didn’t feel the flames at all. He opened his eyes and saw the flames all around him. Alorn watched in amazement as the fire past him without burning anything. He enjoyed it for a time until he felt the heat intensify. He quickly called for Farengar to stop and the flames ended.

“That lasted for about one minute,” Farengar noted as he went and wrote in a nearby journal.

“Master Farengar, that was amazing! I didn’t feel a thing!” Alorn exclaimed.

“I know. I figured you wouldn’t. That was a potion of fire resistance. It’s a rather hard recipe to come by, and I only got tidbits of it. I’ve been experimenting with some alchemical substances, trying to figure out how to finish the recipe. And it appears I’ve completed it. Now, is there any way I can extend its effects?”

Farengar continued to write in his journal, quickly jotting down notes as he thought.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” inquired Alorn.

“As a matter of fact, there is. Summon a bound weapon for me,” Farengar replied.

“But I can’t.”

“You mean, you couldn’t.”

“I’ve tried everything that I can think of, but nothing’s worked,” Alorn said dejectedly.

“You obviously haven’t tried everything, or else you wouldn’t have a problem with it. What have you been doing to summon the weapon?” Farengar asked.

“I’ve been picturing it in my mind, just like the book said to,” answered Alorn.

“That’s a start, but it isn’t enough. You have to access your magicka.”

“Magicka?”

“Yes. Magicka is the energy used to cast spells. The first step is to figure out how to access that energy. Now, I want you to summon fire for me.”

Alorn did as he was asked.

“Can you feel the power that’s being used?”

“Not really.”

“Exactly! It’s because you’re casting a spell that comes naturally to you. You don’t think about what you’re doing. You simply do it. But pay attention to it now. Can you feel the energy behind it?”

Alorn focused on the fire. Suddenly, he felt the flow of energy moving through his body and into the flames.

“Yes, I feel it,” Alorn answered.                                           

“That’s what I’m talking about. You have to reach into that reserve and add it to your thoughts.”

As Farengar finished speaking, an ornate sword fell into his hands. He pointed it level at Alorn’s chest, then turned the handle to him and passed it over. Alorn took it and examined the blade. He had never felt a sword that was so perfectly balanced in his hand. He took a couple of swings, awed by the way it smoothly maneuvered through the air. Then it disappeared as Farengar dismissed the blade.

“Now, I want you to try to just feel the power of the magicka for a moment. Don’t cast any spells. I just want you to learn how to feel that energy in you. It will be important to be aware of it because, without it, nothing will happen. You need to learn what it feels like and how much is there. You’ll be able to tell how much has been used.”

“What happens if it runs out?” asked Alorn.

“It will replenish over time. There are potions that also help restore it faster as well. Now, close your eyes and focus.”

Alorn shut his eyes and breathed deeply. He felt a sudden energy pulsing throughout his entire body. It was exhilarating! He could feel the limitless power held there. But as he looked, he noticed something else as well. Another power, more primal and ferocious. Heat coursed through his veins. It made him want to fly, to shout!

“ _Tuz_!” Alorn bellowed.

At that moment, a magnificent blade entered Alorn’s hand. It was long and straight with flames engraved on the blade that glowed red. Alorn stared at it in wonder, amazed at the intricate detail in the weapon. The blade felt even better in his hand than Farengar’s had. It was balanced as though it were made perfectly for him. He looked to Farengar to see his reaction. The man gaped at the blade for a time then snapped into action.

“What was that word that you said when you summoned the sword?” he asked as he ran to his journal.

 _Word? What word?_ Alorn thought.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I can’t remember.”

“Nothing?” Farengar asked in dismay. “How? You just barely said it!”

“I don’t know! I really don’t remember what happened,” Alorn explained.

Farengar rubbed his temples.

“Alright. Well, that was amazing! I’ve never seen someone produce a weapon like that on their first try. I have rarely seen weapons summoned like that at all.”

Alorn grinned as he looked at the sword again. It truly was amazing. How had he made it? What was that other power he had felt? He knew it wasn’t magicka exactly, though it felt similar. Whatever it was, it had helped him to make the sword he now held in his hands. He continued to gaze at it fondly for a time before he dismissed it.

“Well, Alorn, are there any other things that you are struggling to learn?” Farengar asked.

“I was having a hard time with Clairvoyance, but I think I can figure it out now that I understand how magicka works.”

“Good! I prepared a test in advance to help you with it. I have hidden an amulet in the city, and your task is to find it. You are not allowed to ask anyone if they saw me hiding anything. You must rely on your magic alone. And know this, I will be watching you. I will ensure that you don’t cheat in any way. Begin when you are ready.”

Alorn nodded, then closed his eyes and opened his mind. He felt the magicka start flowing through him, and he cast his mind out to find the hidden amulet. He saw Farengar stop at the base of the Gildergreen Tree. He dug a small hole, placed the amulet inside and then covered it with a rock. As the vision closed, Alorn opened his eyes and moved swiftly out of Dragonsreach. He descended the steps and made his way to the tree. The great tree was situated in a town square that opened up just before you entered the Cloud District. Alorn made his way over to the tree and soon found the rock that Farengar had placed over the hole. He removed it to find the amulet safely stashed away. He was slightly shocked that it was actually there, but he hurried back to the palace. Farengar nodded as Alorn returned.

“Impressive. You followed my instructions exactly. Great work!”

“How did you know that?” Alorn asked, feeling puzzled.

“I told you I would be watching you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but how? I didn’t see you following me.”

“Well, I guess we’ll never know,” Farengar replied with a mischievous look. “Now, I have a list of things for you to accomplish, so let’s get started, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

Alorn spent the rest of the day stacking books, organizing notes, and cleaning Farengar’s study area. At the end of the day, he packed up his books and headed home. The brisk evening air felt great against his skin. The smell of the wind made his heart soar, and he felt free.

He walked home briskly, excited to tell his father about the events of the day. However, as he moved through the streets Alorn saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to catch the fleeting shadow of someone in the torchlight, followed by some yelling. Alarmed, Alorn ran towards the noise to see what had happened. He rounded the corner of a building and saw a boy about his age on his hands and knees, one hand cradling his stomach.

“Are you alright?” Alorn asked urgently.

“It’s just too easy to corner you, Alorn. It’s like catching a fly in a spider’s web,” a voice said from Alorn’s left.

He looked down an alleyway to see another young man melt from the shadows. Other boys emerged as well, surrounding Alorn. He recognized each one of them. The boy who had spoken was Harik Battle-Born. He was followed by Ulren, Kjarik, and Erarke. Alorn had never had a great relationship with any of these boys. Since coming to Whiterun, he had been an outsider to them. Harik had been particularly bad. He had harassed Alorn constantly as they had grown up together. They often got into fights with one another. Harik had the upper hand when they were younger, but it all changed when Alorn had begun training with his father. The rest of the boys were his cronies.

“What do you want Harik?” asked Alorn, his voice tight.

“Oh, rumor has it that you’ve been taken on as old Farengar’s apprentice. Now, we ain’t much the type for trusting mages here. Pa says they’re a plague,” Harik replied with a malicious glint in his eye.

Alorn knew what he was referring to. Years ago, a barrage of storms lashed the coast of Winterhold and had caused much of the land to erode rapidly. The College of Winterhold, though on the brink of the erosion, still stood. The event was called The Great Collapse, and many believed that the storms were somehow caused by the mages of the college. And thus, the suspicions began. There was a great divide among the people of Skyrim whether or not to trust the mages, and it was found even in Whiterun.

Alorn, however, didn’t believe that Harik really cared all that much about that. It only gave him justification in his mind to bully Alorn. He noticed that the other boys seemed even more hate-filled and figured Harik had been telling them stories.

“Alright, Asgald, you can get up now!” Harik barked.

The boy who was on his knees stood and smirked at Alorn as he joined the rest of the group. Harik and the other four boys started to tighten up around him. He knew how to fight, but he also knew he wasn’t going to be able to take them on by himself. His heart started to race.

Kjarik took the first swing. Alorn dodged and landed a solid punch into Kjarik’s gut. He barely turned in time to deflect Ulren’s fist as it came around to hit him in the side of the head, but he wasn’t quick enough to stop Harik from kicking him in the side. The air rushed out of Alorn’s lungs, and he felt something crack. Another fist hit him square in the jaw, causing him to drop the rest of the way.

“Stop!” yelled a voice.

Alorn looked past his attackers to see someone approaching from the alleyway. He was surprised but grateful to see Fenrarne step out of the shadows. Fenrarne was a year older than Alorn and had been his best friend since coming to Whiterun. Fenrarne was a friend to almost everybody their age, but he had been especially welcoming to Alorn. Fenrarne was tall for his age, and he was almost a head taller than Harik. His thick arms were folded over his chest as he glared with icy blue eyes at the attackers.

“Well look who decided to show up,” drawled Harik. “Wanted to get a hit in before we finished him off?”

 _Show up?_ A pit began to form in Alorn’s stomach.

“What are you doing?” Fenrarne exclaimed.

“What do you mean, ‘What are we doing’?” asked Erarke. “We’re teaching him that mages aren’t welcome.”

“This isn’t going to happen,” growled Fenrarne in response.

“Oh, yeah, you’re really frightening,” Harik goaded. “You wanted this just as much as we did!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Alorn.

Fenrarne cast a guilty glance at Alorn. “No, I didn’t want _this_ at all! I told you in confidence that I was concerned, nothing more!”

“Becoming a milk drinker on us I see,” spat Ulren. “Do you think you can come here and…?” Fenrarne suddenly punched him in the face, causing him to reel backward. Asgald and Kjarik quickly moved and grabbed hold of Fenrarne. Alorn saw his chance and launched himself at Harik despite the fiery pain in his ribs. He tackled the boy to the ground and managed to get a few good punches in before Harik hit him in the ribs. Again the air rushed out of Alorn’s lungs, and another boy shoved him off. Soon he was surrounded as his attackers who began to kick him all over. The last thing he saw was Fenrarne struggling to be released before everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Alorn’s eyes cracked open, but he shut them quickly against the light that filled the room. His whole body throbbed. He tried to remember the last thing that happened to him. He was walking home, and he heard a noise. He went to check it out, and then…. Harik! He and some other boys had attacked him! But what happened? Where was he?

Alorn opened his eyes again to get a better look at where he was despite the throbbing in his head. As he looked, he realized he was back in his room. The light was coming from the cracked doorway where he could hear quiet voices.

“…aren’t my specialty Soreld. I’m sorry. I don’t think that I can do much for him in that way. None of his injuries are deadly. He’ll recover from them over time. I’ve sent a request for Arcadia to make some potions of healing. It won’t totally heal him, but it will help.”

The voice was Farengar’s.

“Thank you, Farengar! I am in your debt,” Soreld replied.

“Nonsense! I’m the one indebted to you. I never thought I’d say this, but I enjoy having an apprentice around, especially him. He’s a sharp boy. I’m proud to be his teacher. Now, I’ll go see how I can help Arcadia. Let me know how he’s doing, and I’ll be by later to check on him.”

“Thank you again, Farengar,” said Soreld.

Alorn heard Farengar’s footsteps retreat through the house. He attempted to move and then immediately regretted his decision. Pain flashed through his whole body, and he made an audible noise of discomfort. In a flash, Soreld was in the room.

“How are you doing, son?” he asked worriedly.

“Hurt,” was all Alorn could say. Even opening his mouth hurt. He could feel that the right side of his jaw was swollen.

“I bet. You took quite the beating.”

Soreld smiled at Alorn, but Alorn could see the pain in his eyes. There was nothing he could do to comfort his father though. It hurt to breathe, let alone move to comfort someone else.

“How…bad…is it?” Alorn grunted.

“Well, you have multiple broken ribs, a few fractures to your skull, and a broken jaw. There’s also a lot of bruising. Farengar was just here though, and he and Arcadia are working on something to help,” assured Soreld.

Alorn nodded slowly. He rubbed his jaw where it was swollen. He closed his eyes, and he began to push magicka into his jaw. Soft yellow light shone in his hand and the pain subsided. The swelling went down, and Alorn felt the bones in his jaw realign. His jaw finally returned to normal, though Alorn’s magicka was critically low. He sighed with relief and was able to relax a little more.

“That was impressive.”

Alorn looked over at his father. He looked at Alorn with love and admiration. It was easy to forget that the man wasn’t his father by blood. He loved Alorn as if he were his own.

“Thanks, Pa. I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to practice, but I’m glad I could heal my jaw,” Alorn replied.

“Me too, son,” agreed Soreld. “Me too.”

“What happened after I went unconscious?”

“A guard on patrol heard the commotion and went to investigate. The boys who attacked you scattered, so he wasn’t able to catch them but he brought you home and informed me of the situation. That’s when I sent for Farengar.”

Alorn nodded as he remembered Fenrarne.

“Who all was there?” Soreld asked.

“Harik, Ulren, Kjarik, Erarke, and Asgald,” answered Alorn. He couldn’t bring himself to mention Fenrarne.

“Well, I’ll report that to the guard who found you.”

Alorn nodded again, betrayal eating at him like a maggot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! I hope you enjoyed the read. I definitely enjoyed writing it. I'm sorry the introduction of Fenrarne is so brutal, but he really is a good guy. He just made a bad decision. He'll get a lot better. Please leave your thoughts below! Take care!


	5. On the Road Again

Last Seed, 4E 195

As the week progressed, Alorn was able to get up and move again. Between the potions of healing that Arcadia had made, and the little bit of healing that Alorn was able to do, he had made a fairly quick recovery. He convinced his father to let him go see if Farengar needed any help, but upon his arrival, Farengar threatened to turn him into a pool of slime if Alorn didn’t return home to rest. So, he walked back home glumly. He hated feeling so useless and fragile. He wanted to start working again and doing something productive.

As he reached the Wind District, he noticed that some of the boys from the other night were watching. Harik and his father glared as he passed. He got several looks from people as he passed them as well. They ranged from curiosity, to pity, to fear, and then to anger. He hurried the rest of the way home.

He walked into the house to smell lunch over the fire. Soreld was searing some salmon that he had caught earlier that day. The smell made Alorn’s mouth water, but other things pressed more powerfully on his mind.

“Back so soon? I told you Farengar wasn’t going to let you help him. You should have listened to me,” Soreld goaded.

“Pa?” he asked apprehensively.

“Yes, son?”

“Why do they hate me?”

“Why does who hate you?” Soreld asked.

“The people of Whiterun! As I was walking home, there were so many that glared at me as I passed, and they seemed happy about what happened to me.”

Soreld sighed.

“I know, Alorn. Honestly? You scare them. Some of them have grown up with this fear, and they don’t know how to let it go.”

“But I didn’t do anything to them!”

“It’s not about what you did son. It’s about what you are, what you represent. They fear what they don’t understand. And rather than try to learn more about it, they choose the easier path and hate it,” Soreld answered, his voice quivering with anger.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Pa,” Alorn replied, close to tears.

“Oh son,” Soreld said as he pulled Alorn close. “You can’t give up. If you do, they win. They will have gotten what they wanted. I understand it’s hard, but you can’t give up now. You are on a path to greatness. And despite what these people think, you can do great things to benefit the lives of others. They forget that their lives are already benefited so much from magic.

“Sometimes, we get so caught up in our lives that we forget what’s out there. Bandits, thieves, and other armies aren’t always our greatest enemies. There are magical forces in this land, and many of those forces are malicious by nature. Farengar has actually been called upon numerous times to defend the city of Whiterun from foes that couldn’t just be done away with by the sword. I’ve gone with him a time or two. Despite the skill that I have with the sword, if I had been there on my own, we wouldn’t be together now. His skill as a mage is what stopped those evil powers from spreading.

“So, you see son, there are things you can do that others can’t. There are things out there that the common man doesn’t know how to deal with. Don’t give up. Keep learning. Keep fighting. Show them that you won’t be scared away. And most importantly, show them that you can help. Some people won’t change but some will. And those are the people that matter.”

Alorn thought on that for a while. Finally, he nodded and smiled at Soreld.

“Thanks, Pa,” he said.

“You’re welcome, son,” Soreld responded. “Now, let’s get something to eat.”

 

* * *

 

A few more days passed, and Alorn was finally able to start helping Farengar again. It felt good to be able to do something worthwhile with his time. He made his way to the palace, excited to get back to work. He had been practicing a few new spells, and he was excited to show them to Farengar.

Alorn entered Dragonsreach and started towards Farengar’s study when he noticed Farengar standing with the jarl and a woman. She was dressed in a tan and brown robe and looked to be one of the priestesses from the Temple of Kynareth. Curiosity took over, and he made his way towards them.

“Ah, Alorn, I’m happy you’re here. We were just talking about you,” Farengar said.

“About what?” inquired Alorn.

“Straight and to the point this one,” chuckled Jarl Balgruuf. “We need your help with something. But first, we should introduce you to our guest. This is Danica Pure-Spring, a high priestess of Kynareth.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Master Alorn,” Danica replied.

“And you, ma’am,” said Alorn. “How can I help?”

“Mistress Danica has come to ask for our help with reviving the Gildergreen Tree,” Farengar answered. “You may have noticed lately that it hasn’t been doing too well.”

“I did. What’s happened to it? How did it die?”

“Well, you see, a tree like this can never actually die,” Danica answered. “The Gildergreen Tree is a small piece of its mother tree, the Eldergleam. The Eldergleam Tree is the oldest living thing in Skyrim, if not all of Tamriel. It was given to us by Kynareth, and Kynareth’s followers have made pilgrimages for years to gaze upon its majesty. They have also made many trips here to view the Gildergreen as well, but those visits have decreased ever since the tree had been struck by lightning. It caused much damage to the tree, and now it’s fallen into slumber. However, if we were to get some sap from the mother tree, we may be able to revive the Gildergreen Tree.”

“That’s where you come in,” Farengar remarked. “We need you to help Mistress Danica revive the tree. I would go, but the jarl needs me here to continue on some important research he has assigned to me. Besides, this will be a great opportunity to put your newfound skills to the test. Are you up to it?”

“Yes, Master Farengar,” Alorn answered.

“Good! Well, I must be off then. Danica will fill you in on all the details. Make sure you come and see me before you leave,” said Farengar as he walked away.

“Alright, I’ll be there,” Alorn called after him.

“So, what is it that you need me to do?” he asked Danica.

“Well, as I mentioned, we need to obtain sab from the Eldergleam Tree. But you won’t be able to tap it like a normal tree. Its bark is so ancient that no common material is strong enough to penetrate it. I’ve heard of a tool, however, that might be able to do it. It is called Nettlebane. It was formed by the hagravens in order to sacrifice spriggans. It’s the only thing old enough to pierce the bark of the Eldergleam. And from what we’ve heard, the hagravens still have it. It was spotted recently at a place called Orphan Rock where a hagraven has set up camp. It’s a little southeast of Riverwood. Your first task is to go there and get it. I will give you as much time as you need to gather supplies and a team, if you feel necessary, to make the journey. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Mistress Danica. I would be happy to help. I’ll get started on the preparations immediately,” replied Alorn.

He gave a bow to Danica and then made his way back home to start preparations. His heart was racing as he walked back. Farengar had made this undertaking sound a lot less dangerous. He didn’t know much about hagravens, but he did know they were merciless and powerful.

Suddenly, he noticed someone walking towards him. He growled when he realized it was Fenrarne.

“You bastard!” snarled Alorn as he punched Fenrarne in the nose. Fenrarne grunted and took a step back. Alorn wasn’t as big as he was, but he was still strong.

“I guess I deserved that,” Fenrarne said as he clutched his nose.

“You think?” said Alorn sarcastically as he turned away.

“No, Alorn, wait! I wanted to talk to you!” Fenrarne yelled back.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you. Not after what you pulled.”

“Alorn, please!” exclaimed Fenrarne.

Alorn turned slowly to face him. “Why would I want to listen to you right now? Give me one good reason.”

“I didn’t know they were going to attack you.”

“Oh, great excuse! What did you think they would do? You talked to them about me behind my back! What the hell was that about?”

“Why the hell did you decide to become a mage?” Fenrarne growled back. “You know what they did in Winterhold. Lives were lost because of them! And you’re just going to join them?”

“By the Nine! You have got to be joking! Sometimes accidents happen. They don’t always have to be because of magic!”

“Maybe not, but it damn well seems like it in this situation. Magic corrupts! It makes people want more power, and they’re willing to do anything to get it!”

At that moment, Alorn’s expression changed from anger to pure fury, and Fenrarne wilted slightly under his gaze.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that’s what you think of me,” he said quietly.

Fenrarne tried to hold Alorn’s gaze, but eventually, he dropped it. “No, I don’t think that of you. But why didn’t you tell me?” The look in his eyes was one of betrayal. It shocked Alorn, and his anger lessened a bit.

“I didn’t know I needed to. I didn’t think it mattered. I thought you trusted me,” Alorn responded with the same amount of betrayal.

Fenrarne’s eyes fell again with shame. “You’re right. I should have trusted you. I guess I was just scared. I’ve always been taught that mages were untrustworthy. I was afraid of that happening to my best friend.

“But I know that doesn’t excuse my actions. I am so sorry for what happened to you. I didn’t want that at all. I was just so hurt that I was afraid of how I would react if I approached you about it. I don’t know why I thought that they could have handled that better. I’m so sorry.”

True regret filled Fenrarne’s eyes. Alorn just stared for a time, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” sighed Fenrarne. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.” With that, he turned and walked away.

Alorn was left with many mixed emotions. He was still angry. Even though Fenrarne hadn’t meant for the others to cause Alorn harm, he had still conspired with them about it rather than just coming to him. But he was also stunned by something Fenrarne had said. It was little, but Fenrarne had called Alorn his best friend. Alorn could hardly believe it. Fenrarne was very popular. He had always had a lot of friends. Alorn had always considered Fenrarne a friend. He knew many of the other kids growing up, but Fenrarne had always been there. So, for him to say that Alorn was his best friend meant a lot to him.

With all these different emotions swirling inside, Alorn continued his walk back home. When he got to the house, he found it empty. His father would be at work making repairs on some of the equipment they would need for the next trip. He would need to go and find his father eventually. As he packed, he was left to his thoughts about Fenrarne and his task. It all seemed so daunting to him. He was barely learning how to use his magic, and now Master Farengar wanted him to go steal a blade from some powerful creatures. And what did Fenrarne expect him to say? That everything was alright? The broken bones and bruises had hurt, but nothing had hurt worse than his betrayal.

As he worked, he heard the front door open. He peaked out of his room to see that his father had walked in.

“Oh, Alorn! I didn’t realize you had come home. I forgot some things that I needed for work,” Soreld said as he prepared to leave.

“No, Pa, wait! I need to talk to you about something!” Alorn called after him.

Soreld turned back around.

“What is it?” he asked with a puzzled look on his face.

“Have you noticed that the Gildergreen Tree isn’t looking well?” asked Alorn.

“Yes. What of it?”

“Well, the jarl and Master Farengar have asked me to help Mistress Danica to restore it. I’m getting ready to leave soon,” explained Alorn.

He watched his father’s face, trying to figure out what he thought of the whole situation.

“What do you need to do?” Soreld asked.

“I have to go to Orphan Rock and get a blade called Nettlebane. It’s currently in the hands of a hagraven. After I’ve retrieved it, I need to bring it back to Mistress Danica.”

Soreld’s face lit with horror.

“Hagravens?! You need to get a blade from the hagravens? No, I can’t allow you to do that! Not by yourself!” Soreld protested.

“I know. That’s why I was wondering if you’d come with me? I know it’s dangerous, but if you were there you would be able to help me. We could do it together,” Alorn said hopefully.

Soreld thought for a time. His gaze trailed off, and he seemed to be in another place entirely. Then he looked up and nodded.

“Alright, I’ll come. When do we leave?” he asked.

“As soon as we’re ready,” answered Alorn.

 

* * *

 

 Soon, Alorn and Soreld were ready to leave. Since they traveled so much it didn’t take long to get supplies together for a few days. After he had finished donning his armor, Alorn led the way back towards Dragonsreach to talk to Farengar. They found him scratching away on a journal in his study.

“All ready to go now?” Farengar asked.

Alorn and Soreld nodded in reply.

“Good! Then I will provide some things to help you on your journey. Hagravens are vile and ruthless creatures, and they are very knowledgeable in the arcane arts. I will need to enchant your armor to add extra protection against magic.”

Farengar motioned for them to remove their armor. As they did so, he placed each set individually on his enchanting table and began the enchanting process. With each set, he pulled out a large gem and set it on the table as he began. After a few minutes Farengar finished, and he gave Alorn and Soreld their armor back.

“Alright, these will now give you extra protection from the hagravens’ spells. I only wish I could do more. A word of warning though, hagravens aren’t often alone. They generally have a small coven of witches about them who desire to become hagravens as well. If you find the hagraven there, just remember she’s likely to have others with her,” warned Farengar.

“Thank you so much, Farengar. We appreciate the help,” Soreld said.

Farengar saw them out of the palace and then disappeared back inside. Alorn and his father made their way to the front gate of the city. As they approached, they saw Fenrarne sitting near the gate with a pack and a sword at his side.

“What do you think you’re doing, Fenrarne?” Alorn asked harshly. He couldn’t help but continue to be angry with him.

“I heard that you were leaving, and I wanted to help,” answered Fenrarne sheepishly.

“Well, we don’t want you to come!” barked Alorn. “I don’t know what made you think we did.”

Fenrarne opened his mouth, but Soreld spoke first.

“Actually, I believe we could use your help.”

Alorn started to object, but Soreld raised his hand for silence.

“The jarl has tasked us to help restore the Gildergreen Tree. We are on our way now to retrieve a tool that will help us complete that mission. The road ahead is very dangerous. If you don’t want to come, I completely understand. But the extra set of hands would certainly help.”

Fenrarne chewed on his lip nervously, thinking over the situation.

“I understand,” he replied after a few moments. “I still want to come.”

“Then follow us,” said Soreld.

Alorn growled in frustration. But he also couldn’t help feeling a little relieved. It felt good to have someone else there to help.

“Alright, grab your things and let’s go,” he snapped.

Fenrarne nodded excitedly, gathered his pack and joined them on their way out. They made their way to the stable that Soreld owned and prepared horses for the three of them. Before they left, however, Soreld stopped Fenrarne.

“You’re going to need some extra protection, Fenrarne. I want you to take my armor. Farengar enchanted it to be resistant to magic, so you’re going to need that,” Soreld said.

“But, Pa, you’re going to need something to protect you!” Alorn said in alarm.

“My shield was enchanted as well, son, and I’ll be holding on to that. It’ll be enough.”

“Are you sure, sir?” asked Fenrarne.

“Absolutely. You’re going to need it,” answered Soreld.

He removed his armor and helped Fenrarne get it on. After he had secured the armor, Soreld pulled out a map of Skyrim.

“Alorn says that this hagraven is at a place called Orphan Rock, which is southeast of Riverwood. There isn’t a direct path from Riverwood to Orphan Rock, so we’ll need to take the road to Helgen, then head northeast to get there. We’ll probably have to stay in Riverwood at the Sleeping Giant Inn for the night, and then take off for Orphan Rock in the morning. Are we in agreement?”

Alorn and Fenrarne nodded.

“Alright, then let’s be off.”

They mounted their horses and began their journey towards Riverwood.

Alorn loved the trip to Riverwood. He looked forward to every opportunity he had to travel south of Whiterun. The road moved around the base of the Throat of the World and ran along the bank of the White River. Trees covered the land, tall and unyielding to the mighty winds that blew through them. Plant and animal life thrived abundantly there. You could see large elk and deer wandering near the path, along with an assortment of other game. The soft song of birds in the air and the rushing of the river was the greatest symphony that Alorn had ever heard, and he loved the peacefulness that it brought.

Soreld pulled up beside Alorn and motioned for them to trot ahead so they could talk in private.

“Why are you so upset with Fenrarne?” he asked. “I thought you two were good friends?”

“We are…were. I don’t know. It really doesn’t matter,” Alorn responded.

Soreld was quiet as he thought. “Alright,” he finally replied. “I would just hate to see you lose someone who’s been such a good friend over the years. Just don’t let hate keep hold of you, son. It will eat you up inside.”

A tinge of guilt pricked Alorn’s heart, and he glanced back at Fenrarne. He would forgive him eventually. He knew his father was right. Fenrarne had been a really good friend to him, and he didn’t want to lose that. He just wasn’t ready to forgive him quite yet.

After several hours of traveling, the three of them finally made their way into Riverwood. Soreld entered the Sleeping Giant Inn to reserve some rooms for them while Alorn and Fenrarne stabled the horses. They made their way inside and met up with Soreld and Orgnar, the inn’s merchant, who led them to their rooms.

“Thank you for your accommodations, Orgnar,” said Soreld.

“My pleasure, sirs. If there’s anything you need, I’ll be at the front counter,” replied Orgnar.

“Alright you two, make sure you get some sleep tonight. We’re going to have quite the time of it tomorrow, and you’re going to need all the rest you can get,” Soreld instructed.

Alorn and Fenrarne mumbled their agreement and then moved into their separate rooms. Alorn closed his door and looked around. The room was small, but it had everything anyone would need. A bed was tucked away in the right-hand corner, and it was covered by a thick, wool blanket. Along the left wall was a small table with a washing basin, as well as a pitcher. Alorn grabbed the pitcher and left to find Orgnar.

“Is there any hot water that I can get to clean up?” he asked.

“Yes. Actually, there’s a pot of it over the fire now. There are also a couple of hot pads there so you don’t burn yourself,” answered Orgnar.

“Thank you.”

Alorn poured the hot liquid into his pitcher and then went back to his room. After he had removed his armor and outer clothing, Alorn cleaned himself off and climbed into bed.

The next morning, Alorn woke to soft sunlight streaming into his room through the window. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and got out of bed to retrieve more hot water to wash up. He packed up his things and then met his father and Fenrarne in the front hall. A few of the patrons were out and about, and everyone was getting food for the morning. Alorn purchased a loaf of bread with butter and a cup of milk.

He watched some of the people as they milled about. Many of them looked to be merchants that were passing through the area. They looked a little wealthier than most, and they had a few men with them that looked to be sell-swords they had hired to protect them and their merchandise. Others seemed to be normal travelers, while others were from Riverwood looking for a bite to eat.

A bard played his flute softly in the background, and Alorn listened to the beautiful tune. The tale it seemed to tell was one of laughter and sadness, joy, and distress. The melody moved back and forth between the different emotions. Its story moved the soul, and images of joyful families and loss floated across Alorn’s mind. He continued to listen till the bard finished the song. Then one of the men in the room put a few coins in the tin near the bard and requested to hear the familiar tune, Ragnar the Red. As the bard sang, many of the others in the inn joined him.

_There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red,_

_Who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead!_

_And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade,_

_As he told of bold battles and gold he had made!_

_But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red,_

_When he met the shieldmaiden Matilda who said…_

_“Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead!_

_Now I think it’s high time that you lie down and bleed!”_

_And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel,_

_As the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal!_

_And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooooree…_

_When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!_

The entire tavern joined on the final verse, belting at the top of their lungs, and the room erupted with laughter.

A few more songs were played as Alorn, Fenrarne, and Soreld finished their meals and gathered their things. They made their way out to the stables and Alorn breathed in the chill morning air, the breeze ruffling his hair. Sunlight dappled the ground, and the shadows of leaves danced as the wind blew through the trees. He was grateful that the sun was shining. It was a contrast to the task that was ahead of them. The three of them mounted their horses and rode out of town from the south, making their way towards Helgen.

“So, what’s our plan?” asked Fenrarne as they rode.

“We get Nettlebane,” said Alorn. He still hadn’t really forgiven Fenrarne yet for his betrayal.

“I know that. But how?”

“We’ll have to survey the area first,” Soreld replied. “We need to get an idea of what we will be up against. It’ll be best if we can avoid a fight. Getting in there, grabbing Nettlebane, and getting out would be our best option. But we need to figure out where they keep the blade.

“Once we get close to Orphan Rock, I’ll go ahead and scout the area. After I get all the information I can, I’ll come back and inform you two. Finding out where they keep the blade is going to be difficult, and we’ll have to see what their camp is like before we can make any plans. Stealth is key, so make sure you follow my lead.”

Alorn and Fenrarne nodded in agreement.

They arrived at Helgen a few hours later. They entered by the eastern gate made their way through town. Helgen was a fair sized town, bigger than Riverwood. It was situated by itself in the northern part of Falkreath Hold, so a stone wall was put up to help keep out unwanted visitors. Though the forests in the area were beautiful, they were still full of danger. Packs of wolves roamed the woods, as did bears, and sabre cats. Most of them wouldn’t attack the city outright, especially during the day, but it kept their children and their animals safe from harm.

Helgen was bustling with people. Farmers sold produce from their stands, and other shopkeepers were inviting those passing to take a look at their goods. Children ran in the streets playing games with one another, their mothers shouting to be careful. A few guards in Falkreath uniforms patrolled the streets and watched the gates, along with some soldiers from the Imperial army.

Alorn shook his head as he saw the soldiers. The Empire had sent soldiers into Skyrim many years ago when Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Eastmarch rose up in rebellion against the Empire and the Third Aldmeri Dominion. In 4E 171, the Aldmeri Dominion had come to Emperor Titus Mede II giving him an ultimatum that he disband the Blades, cease the worship of Talos, and cede large parts of Hammerfell. The emperor rejected the ultimatum, which started the Great War. After five bloody, war-filled years, the Empire signed the White-Gold Concordat, which ceded the portions of Hammerfell that the Dominion wanted, as well as banning the worship of Talos.

Ulfric had been furious with the emperor’s decision to sign the treaty, and he raised the Stormcloak rebellion to claim Skyrim as an independent nation. However, not all of the people of Skyrim supported Ulfric. When the Empire sent troops into Skyrim, it split the country in two. Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, The Reach, Whiterun, and Falkreath held the majority of the Imperial sympathizers. The tension between those holds and the others caused the start of the Skyrim Civil War.

Alorn personally didn’t understand it. Soreld believed in the Divines, but it wasn’t discussed much in their home. It gave Alorn a basic understanding, but the purpose of the fight was lost to him. It was more of a nuisance than anything. The Imperial soldiers were often very brutal to the Nords, especially if they thought they supported the Stormcloak rebellion. The Empire had also allowed the Thalmor, the ruling faction of the Aldmeri Dominion, to roam Skyrim freely and conduct investigations on those who they believed still worshipped Talos. It brought a lot of tension, but Alorn just shook his head about it and moved on.

The three of them soon arrived at the western gate, and they made their way to Orphan Rock. Helgen disappeared behind them as they traveled further into the forest. Soreld pulled out his map to get a better idea of where they needed to go, then led them all to a point in the road where a small path broke off to the right.

“This path will lead us to Orphan Rock. I need you two to secure the horses just off the road, then find a place to hunker down till I return,” Soreld instructed.

“What if you get caught?” asked Alorn.

“You’ll probably hear something loud if that happens. If I get caught, approach with caution, and focus on getting Nettlebane. Not me.”

Alorn scowled but nodded, and Soreld walked further down the path. Alorn and Fenrarne secured the horses then found a place to settle in some larger bushes nearby.

“So, what do you think is going to happen?” Fenrarne asked.

“I don’t know. I hope nothing happens.”

“Me too.”

They sat in silence till Soreld returned a few minutes later.

“There’s no one in the camp. It’s completely deserted,” reported Soreld.

“What do we do then?” Alorn asked.

“We’ll stay here for a while and see if we can’t catch them returning back to camp. We’ll set up a watch so that we can each get some sleep. You’ll have to lie low and stay hidden. We want the element of surprise. We’ll set up shifts for an hour and a half. I’ll take the first watch.”

“No, you won’t,” argued Alorn. “You’ve been scouting and leading us here, and you can get some sleep yourself. I’ll take the first watch. Don’t argue with me.”

Soreld grunted, but he didn’t argue. He and Fenrarne removed their swords from their belts and set up a spot to sleep. Alorn found a spot where he could both hide yet still see the surrounding area.

His shift passed with no sign of life beyond the animals in the area. By the time he went to wake up Fenrarne, night had almost fallen. He fell asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Hope you liked the new chapter. I wanted to use these next couple of chapters to introduce the characters more, as well show Alorn gaining experience and growth in his magical studies. I definitely think this little quest from the game is perfect for a field exercise as an apprentice mage. Please feel free to leave your thoughts. Take care!


	6. Orphan Rock

Last Seed, 4E 195

Alorn woke suddenly to the sound of several voices shouting. Someone jerked him from the ground, and he looked around frantically to see two women dressed in black robes pulling him along. He struggled to break their grip, but they held on tighter, their nails starting to dig into his skin. The point of a blade dug into his back enough to stop him from fighting. Alorn looked to see his father struggling helplessly as well. When he found Fenrarne, Alorn saw that he was limp with blood oozing from a gash in his head.

_They must have knocked him out…I hope._

Alorn counted six witches. They carried them all back to an area where the land rose up into two large hills. They were separated by a thin gorge with a steep, rocky wall on both sides, and a large fallen tree created a bridge between them. A gentle slope gave access to the northernmost plateau and a couple of tents had been set up at the top. Severed skeever heads lay on a table nearby, and the heads of a few spriggans were mounted on some crude, wooden pikes. Alorn shivered at the scene.

“Nice sacrifices to bring to Mother,” one of the hags cackled.

“Yes, she will be most pleased,” said another.

Alorn attempted to break free again, but the knife only dug further into his back.

“Thought they could hide from us they did. Didn’t know magic reveals all,” the first witch jeered.

They were then pushed across the large tree to the other plateau. Another tent had been set up there, and one of the most revolting and horrid creatures Alorn had ever seen was standing in front of it. The creature stood even taller than Soreld. It had long, stringy hair, and its nose resembled more of a beak than it did a nose. Feathers grew in odd places on its body. Its hands and feet were long and slender with large claws attached to each finger and toe. It looked as if it had once been human yet had gone through some horrible transformation. Alorn stood face-to-face with a hagraven.

“Mother, look what we found for you!” one of the witches exclaimed.

The creature replied in an awful language, a malicious smile creeping across its mouth.

“Yes, Mother. It was as if they wanted to be sacrificed!”

He watched as the witches took Fenrarne and Soreld and bound them to a couple of posts. Fenrarne still wasn’t moving, and Soreld had given up fighting against his captors. They began dragging Alorn towards a large stone table. They threw him down and started to bind him. Alorn saw the hagraven approaching with a large, crude knife in her hand. He knew in an instant that it was Nettlebane. He began to panic, realizing what was about to happen to him. Then, a sudden flare of anger burst inside of him. It would NOT end this way.

In an instant, flames burst from Alorn’s hands. The witches recoiled screaming, the smell of burned flesh floating in the air. Alorn threw himself over the side of the table and rolled onto his feet. He whipped around to face the hagraven. She lashed out at him with Nettlebane, and he was only just able to dodge her attack. Alorn noticed that her hands had started to burn, and he quickly cast a ward to block the oncoming spell. The first blast of fire was absorbed by the ward, but a second one soon followed and hit with enough force to knock him over. He quickly rolled over as another blast of fire seared the ground next to him and then quickly got back up to his feet.

The witches finally overcame their surprise and began rallying around the hagraven to fight. Large columns of flames erupted from Alorn’s hands as the witches moved in. They all backed away, raising their arms to block the searing heat that was coming at them. Alorn quickly scanned the area to see what he could do. At that moment, he was the only one in a position to fight, and he wasn’t going to make it on his own. The only problem was that the hagraven and the witches stood between him and his father. Then he noticed the little cliff behind him. He could jump off during the confusion.

He turned and jumped down, then he sprinted off around the rise. By the time the witches had recovered from his attack, Alorn had already run to the back of the plateau and was climbing. The witches started scrambling in confusion looking for him. When Alorn reached the top, he saw one of the witches grabbing Soreld by the face.

“Where is he? Where did he go?” she shouted.

“I don’t know!”

Alorn blasted her with a bolt of lightning, the impact sending her sprawling. He quickly hauled himself up the rest of the way, summoned a dagger, and cut Soreld loose. He then summoned a sword and handed it to Soreld.

“Protect Fenrarne!” yelled Alorn.

Soreld put himself between Fenrarne and the witches in a defensive position. The hagraven screeched in her coarse language, and the rest of the witches rushed forward with daggers drawn. Alorn dismissed his dagger and summoned another sword. He met the witches head on and quickly disarmed the first. He brought his sword back around and shoved the blade through her stomach, then kicked her aside. He flew into the witches ranks and spun between them, trying to keep them from summoning any kind of magic. Soreld soon joined the fray as well. They were able to keep the witches at bay for a while as they tried to defend themselves.

Suddenly a body crashed into Alorn. He hit the ground hard, losing the breath from his lungs. He looked up to see the hagraven looming over the top of him. She let out a shriek and slashed with her claws. The long nails raked across Alorn’s face, and he felt hot blood start to flow. He dropped his sword and caught the hagraven’s hand as she tried to slash again. She started to strain against him, and he was surprised at her strength. Her claws started to inch closer and closer to his throat. In desperation, Alorn shoved back, knocking the hagraven off.

“Stop!”

Alorn turned to face the speaker. As he did, he saw two witches dead on the forest floor. The rest had surrounded Soreld and Fenrarne, and one had a dagger at Soreld’s throat.

“If you want these two to live, I suggest you stop struggling,” replied the woman holding Soreld.

Alorn glared at the woman, preparing to attack.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she whispered as she pressed the blade tighter against Soreld’s neck. “Surrender, and the others will live.”

Alorn’s mind raced as he tried to find a way out of this mess.

 _I could do it. I could save him,_ he reasoned.

Then she slit Soreld’s throat.

“Too late,” she sneered.

Blood spurted out and started running down Soreld’s neck. The witch dropped him, and he grasped at the gash that was now there. Alorn watched, horrified by the sight. An immense rage filled him. Heat started to course through his blood, and deep power rose inside of him. Lighting crackled in his hand, and he let out a blast that struck each witch still alive. Their bodies spasmed momentarily then dropped dead. Then Alorn turned to face the hagraven. She made a dash for him, but he raised both hands and launched a bolt large enough to send her body flying through the air. She hit the ground with a sickening crunch and didn’t move again.

Alorn sprinted to Soreld and cradled him in his arms. He had stopped grasping at his throat, and he looked at Alorn with eyes that were starting to gloss over, his skin turning blue from the lack of air.

“No, you can’t leave me!” cried Alorn.

He then raised his hand to Soreld’s throat and poured magicka into it. Immediately the wound began to close. As soon as the last bit of flesh sealed itself shut, Soreld took a large gasp of air. The color instantly returned to his face. He sat up coughing, and he turned over and wretched. He laid himself back down and breathed deeply for a minute. Alorn pulled a healing potion out of one of the pouches on his belt.

“Here, drink this. It will help.”

He helped Soreld to carefully drink some of it. After he took a couple of swallows, he sat back again to get a breath.

“How are you?” asked Alorn worriedly.

“Better now. Thank you, son,” Soreld replied.

Alorn looked around the camp. All of the witches had fallen, as well as the hagraven. Fenrarne still wasn’t moving, but the blood had dried up from his wound.

“How’s Fenrarne? Do you know?” Alorn asked.

“He’s alive. Beyond the gash to his head, he didn’t seem too bad. They were obviously trying to knock him out while he was on guard. He probably didn’t even see them coming,” replied Soreld.

“They had the advantage. One of them had mentioned that they had used a spell to find us. They knew we were here before they got close then attacked.”

As Soreld rested, Alorn took the time to help untie Fenrarne and let his heart rate slow down. He pulled his waterskin out to start cleaning Fenrarne’s wound. Once the blood was washed away, he could see that the wound wasn’t too deep, though a large lump had started to form. The skin had broken open, but it wasn’t anything serious. He began splashing a little bit of water on Fenrarne’s face to help him come to.

“Hey, wake up.”

Fenrarne groaned as he came back to consciousness.

“What happened?” he asked.

“The witches caught us by surprise.”

“What??” exclaimed Fenrarne as he looked around frantically.

“Don’t worry. We took care of them.”

“What happened?” Fenrarne asked again.

“Well, they knocked you out and dragged us to their camp. They tied you and Pa up, then the hagraven was going to sacrifice me. I managed to get away and untie my dad. Then we fought off the witches and the hagraven. So there, now you know.”

Fenrarne rubbed his head as he listened then yelped as he found the place where he had been hit.

“Yeah, they got you pretty good,” Alorn said.

“Yeah, they did. That smarts!”

“Here, have some of this. It will help.”

Alorn handed Fenrarne the rest of the health potion, which he sipped gratefully. Alorn then made his way back over to Soreld.

“How are you feeling?” Alorn asked.

“Better.”

“Good. Well, rest here. Take it easy. We’ll camp here until tomorrow, and then we’ll start making our way home.”

Alorn made his way back to the road and gathered the horses. Despite all of the excitement, they hadn’t seemed to be touched. They became visibly excited as he approached and untethered them. He led them back to the camp at Orphan Rock and re-tethered them. He made his way to his horse, Jerall, placed his feeding bag and stroked his neck. He fed the other horses as well and then went to work to hide the witches’ bodies. Alorn found a thick set of brambles, and he began pulling the bodies into it. When he came to the hagraven, he found Nettlebane and removed it from her belt. He looked at the jagged thing with disgust. It had taken the lives of hundreds of spriggans, and it had almost taken his own life. He slipped it into his own belt, hoping that the efforts to retrieve it had all been worth it.

After he had disposed of all of the bodies, Alorn gathered some food. His stomach growled as he remembered that the last time he had eaten was in the early afternoon…yesterday. He went around and divvied out portions of dried meats and fruits to Fenrarne, Soreld, and himself. When they had finished, Fenrarne and Soreld laid back to rest and recover from their wounds. Alorn sat watching for a time, but he soon drifted off to sleep against his will.

When Alorn awoke the sun was already rising again in the east. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and got his bearings. Fenrarne was still fast asleep, but Soreld was up making breakfast. He had three rabbits on a spit over the fire, and he was turning them slowly.

“Good morning, son. How’d you sleep?”

Alorn stretched out, joints popping in satisfaction.

“I slept really well actually. I didn’t mean to fall asleep though,” Alorn replied.

Soreld laughed.

“That’s alright. It happens to the best of us sometimes.”

At that moment, Fenrarne stirred from his sleep. He stretched and looked around, then sniffed the air.

“Mmmm!! That smells delicious!” cried Fenrarne.

Soreld pulled the rabbits off the fire and gave one to each of them. They all tore into the meat hungrily till nothing but the bones were left. Once they had finished breakfast, they packed their things and left for home.

 

* * *

 

The walls of Whiterun loomed before Alorn, Fenrarne, and Soreld as they returned home. They took their horses to the stable and unloaded their gear, then took off to report to Danica. They made their way through the city and to the Temple of Kynareth. The temple was a large and beautiful building. Gorgeous statues and ornamentation decorated its grand halls, and large windows let in plenty of warm sunlight.

Kynareth was considered the goddess of nature. However, she was also the patron goddess of healing. Those who were sick or otherwise afflicted could come to one of Her temples and find aid and recovery there. The front hall of the temple was filled with priests and priestesses moving through the great halls, tending to their patrons. They had the responsibility to lead in the worship of Kynareth, and also to aid those who came to be healed.

Soreld motioned to one of the priests as he passed by.

“Do you know where we can find Danica Pure-Spring?” he asked.

“Yes. She’s in the Great Hall for worship. It’s just through those doors,” the priest replied, pointing to a large set of doors at the back of the hall.

“Thank you.”

They made their way through the doors into the Great Hall. The hall was the true beauty of Kynareth. Beautiful mosaics covered the floor and ceiling. The middle of the ceiling domed with a breathtaking scene of Kynareth surrounded by the creatures of nature, bestowing a blessing upon them. The back of the hall contained a magnificent statue of Kynareth. Above her was a large window filled with vibrant green stained glass. Several small alcoves lined the outer walls for patrons to worship. Many knelt there now. Others stood around the statue in the back, while others gazed at the stunning art that decorated the hall.

Alorn noticed Danica inspecting the statue in the back, and he led the way to her. She turned to greet them as they got closer.

“Good! You made it back safely! Did you find Nettlebane?”

Alorn removed the ancient knife from his belt and moved to hand it to her.

“You go ahead and hold on to it. I would rather not touch that foul thing.”

Alorn placed the knife back in his belt feeling a little confused.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

“Your next task will be to retrieve the sap from the Eldergleam Tree. The sanctuary is to the east off the path on the way to Ivarstead. One moment.”

Danica made her way to a side door and disappeared inside. She returned with a map and handed it over to Soreld.

“I’ve circled the area in which the sanctuary can be found. The precise location has never been recorded to keep it hidden from those who would defile it. It’s found in a cave somewhere near the hot springs in Eastmarch Hold. Once you get there, you’ll need to retrieve the sap. Here’s a vial to hold it. As soon as we have that sap, I can work on reviving the Gildergreen.”

“Consider it done,” replied Soreld as he took the map and the vial.

“Thank you again for your willingness to help,” said Danica.

“It’s our pleasure,” Soreld answered.

The three of them retreated back through the front hall and out into the open air.

“Let’s take a few days to rest and recover before we leave. That will also give us time to prepare and gather supplies for the journey as well,” Soreld suggested.

“I agree,” replied Fenrarne. “I feel like I could sleep for a week straight.”

Fenrarne thanked them and made his way back home. Alorn and Soreld started to walk away from the temple when they heard a voice shouting after them. They turned to see a man approaching.

“I’m sorry to hold you up, but I overheard you talking to Danica about going to the Eldergleam. My name is Maurice Jondrelle. I am a traveler. A pilgrim. I follow the voice of Kynareth wherever it can be heard. I’ve been visiting many of the holy sites around Skyrim, but the Eldergleam is not one I’ve had the chance to see yet. I was wondering if I would be permitted to come along?”

Alorn and Soreld shared a quick glance, then turned back to Maurice.

“Well, Maurice, we wouldn’t necessarily mind having another companion come along, but you’ll have to let us talk it over,” replied Soreld. “We’ll get back to you in time for you to join us should we decide to allow you to come. Where would we be able to call on you?”

“Oh, I’ll be staying at The Bannered Mare, but I’ll be spending most of my time at the temple. You can check either of those places to find me. I really appreciate your consideration, and I hope to hear from you soon.”

“Of course.”

Maurice waved and walked back into the temple.

“What do you think?” Soreld asked as he and Alorn made their way home.

“I agree with you. It wouldn’t be bad to have him come along. But I want to check with Danica first. It sounds like they hold the location of the sanctuary pretty secret to keep it safe. Best to check with her first,” replied Alorn.

“I agree. We’ll come back tomorrow and talk to Danica.”

After a short walk, Alorn and Soreld made it back to their home. Alorn walked in and made his way to the nearest chair and fell into it. He was exhausted. The journey had seemed longer than it actually had been, and they’d been through a lot in that short time. He had had his first real battle using magic, and he had almost lost his father and Fenrarne to the witches. He could agree with Fenrarne that sleeping for a week sounded good.

They both sat and rested for a time till Soreld finally stood up and gathered a quick dinner. Alorn devoured the meal quickly, realizing just how hungry he was. He placed his plate in a bucket with a few other dirty dishes, then took the rest of his things and put them away. Once he had finished, he washed up, got into bed and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, I really hoped you guys enjoyed this because I had a fun time writing it. The battle was really fun to write, and I'm excited to be able to expand the magic from Skyrim a little more. As always, feel free to leave your comments. They're always appreciated!


	7. Journey to the Eldergleam

Last Seed, 4E 195

The sun still hadn’t crested the mountains as Alorn, Soreld, Fenrarne, and Maurice prepared to leave Whiterun. Alorn and Soreld had returned to Danica to talk to her about Maurice, and she had explained that he was a devoted follower of Kynareth. So, they had agreed to take him along. He was a good man from what they could tell. He had little experience with a weapon and wouldn’t be too helpful in a fight, but he was familiar with all of the history and lore of Kynareth and the blessings she had bestowed upon mankind. They figured his knowledge would be helpful during their journey.

Alorn’s breath billowed in front of him, and he pulled his cloak closer around him as he finished saddling his horse. Though it was the middle of summer, mornings and nights still got chilly in Skyrim. He and the others mounted their horses and headed east. They crossed the bridge over the White River and continued on in the direction of Ivarstead.

The path to Ivarstead wasn’t nearly as exciting as the road to Riverwood. Endless, flat plains stretched for miles, and the mountain forests could only be seen in the distance. There were the occasional mammoth and giant to see in the distance at times, and that could be very exciting. Alorn had always been intrigued by the giant creatures. Neither of them was particularly aggressive, but they were still dangerous if you got too close.

Alorn was pleased to see a herd moving in the distance to mix up the monotony of the ride. He knew there was a giant camp near there, so the herd must have been out grazing. The road made its way north for a while and then bent back east to navigate around the base of the Throat of the World. The sun had begun to sink again behind the mountains when they approached the familiar Valtheim Towers. The large towers had once been a part of an ancient Nordic keep but had since been reduced to nothing but two lonely towers. A large bridge spanned the White River to connect the two remaining towers.

As they advanced towards the southern tower, Alorn noticed a campfire burning in front of the tower steps. A group of about 15 people surrounded the warmth of the fire, cooking and drinking. They soon noticed Alorn’s small band drawing nearer, and a few of them stood up to greet them.

“Ho friends! How are you this fine evening?” called one of the men as he walked out to meet them.

He was a larger man, and he looked to be the leader of the lot. His clothing was worn from travel, and a single-handed axe hung from his belt. The rest of the group had the same worn look. Weapons had been propped up close by while some of the group still had weapons hanging from their belts. Alorn knew exactly what this meant: bandits. Those who had approached Alorn’s group made a half circle in front of the horses, while the others rose from where they were sitting to watch.

“We’re doing fine friend. Just on our way to Riften,” Soreld replied.

“Long journey ahead. I hate to impose, but this is a toll road. We’ll need each of you to pay 100 septims.”

“That’s interesting. I’ve traveled this road many times, and I’ve never had to pay a toll.”

“If you’ve traveled this road often, then you understand its need to be serviced. Too many wagons have broken down because it’s so rough. The money collected from travelers will allow work to be done on the road.”

Soreld watched the man for a minute. Alorn knew what was happening, as did Soreld. These men hadn’t been posted here by anyone. They were here to intimidate people to pay them. It was almost lazy. Some people may fall into the trap and pay the toll freely. Others would see through the lie but would be too afraid to stand up to them. They had a large enough group that it would be dangerous to refuse.

The man knew that Soreld saw through the ruse, but he didn’t back down. He watched Soreld’s face with a slight, smug grin, resting his hand on the head of his axe. The others in his group watched intently. Some placed their hands on their weapons as well to look more intimidating, glaring at Soreld and the others.

Soreld stepped down from his horse and approached the leader. Many of the bandits became anxious and drew their swords, but their leader motioned for them to stand down.

“Suppose we don’t want to pay this toll?” asked Soreld.

The bandit leader sneered.

“I think that would be a bad idea on your part.”

Just then, Alorn noticed some movement from the top of the tower. He looked and saw a couple figures at the top with bows drawn. Alorn flashed some discrete signals to Soreld that they used while caravanning. Soreld saw and gave a slight nod. Fenrarne and Maurice, however, were looking very confused and frightened. Alorn got Fenrarne’s attention, then motioned to the archers above. He nodded and carefully loosened his sword in its sheath.

“Alright. We’ll pay,” said Soreld.

He motioned for the others to dismount to join him. He counted out his payment and went to give it to the bandit. However, as Soreld reached his hand out to give it to him, he dropped the money. The leader watched it fall for just a moment, which gave Soreld and Alorn all the time they needed to move into action. As the leader watched, Soreld punched the man, causing him to stagger back.

Alorn ran straight to the tower to escape the fire from the archers above. However, it also caused him to run straight to the rest of the bandit group. As he charged them, Alorn cast a form of the spell Mage Armor called Oakflesh. It was a newer spell that he had been working on from the School of Alteration. It allowed the caster's skin to become hard as oak, while still retaining the elasticity that skin had to move. Any blade that hit the skin, however, would react as if it had hit a block of oak wood. It was a great defense for mages since they rarely wore actual armor. It also gave more coverage than your average armor did.

Alorn quickly unsheathed his sword then cast a gout of flames at the bandits as he approached. Their eyes widened, and they scattered like a school of frightened fish. Alorn came upon his first enemy and struck him down before he could turn. He spun quickly to meet the blade of another enemy. He whirled between the bandits during their time of confusion and shock.

Soon, Alorn noticed that Fenrarne had joined him in the fray. They cut through as many of their enemies as they could before they got their bearings. However, the bandits soon recovered and made a powerful counterattack. One of the men bellowed as he charged Alorn with a large battle-axe. Alorn sidestepped the swing and stabbed at the man’s chest. He lifted a gauntleted arm to deflect the blow, then kicked Alorn in the center of his chest causing him to fall. The man charged again, but Alorn hit him square in the chest with a blast of fire that sent him sprawling.

Alorn quickly picked himself back up and assessed the battle. Between Fenrarne and Alorn, they had managed to account for six bandits. Soreld had taken care of another two, and he was currently engaged with the bandit leader. Maurice had taken cover near the tower and away from the battle.

At that moment, Alorn noticed the two archers had come down from the top of the tower. They both surveyed the battle for a moment, and then they started to nock their bows. Alorn sent a bolt of lightning at them as he charged. The blast stunned one causing him to drop to the ground. The other turned her bow on Alorn and let the arrow loose. He dodged to the side and heard the arrow hiss past his ear. Alorn then ran into the woman as hard as he could before she could nock another arrow or pull out a blade to fight. She hit the ground, the wind knocked out of her, and Alorn plunged his blade into her chest. He then turned and cut down the male archer before he could get back on his feet.

The sound of battle continued around Alorn, and he looked around again to see how it was going. He saw both Fenrarne and Soreld had been surrounded by the enemy, and he ran to help. Alorn sheathed his blade and released another blast of lightning at the enemies. Its force killed two more bandits, allowing Fenrarne and Soreld to gain an advantage. The three of them attacked the remaining bandits with such ferocity that they faltered in their defense. Their leader had fallen to Soreld’s blade, and their numbers were rapidly decreasing. They turned and retreated down the road towards Whiterun and the plains.

Alorn looked around at all the bandits that had fallen; twelve of the 17 bandits now lay strewn across the ground. Alorn and the others started gathering the bodies together and threw them into the river below.

When they had finished, they searched the towers for any extra supplies that they could get. Alorn followed the stairs of the tower into a larger, open area with a few bedrolls laid out, a table, and a chest. Luckily the chest hadn’t been locked, and he was able to get in easily. He opened it to find not only supplies of food but also several large bags of gold inside.

“Come take a look at this!” Alorn called to the others.

Fenrarne led the group as they came to see what Alorn had discovered. Fenrarne whistled as he saw the chest’s contents.

“Wow! That’s quite the treasure trove,” said Fenrarne. “What should we do with it?”

“We’ll have to keep it here for now,” Soreld answered. “We don’t have a way to carry it now. We’ll grab it on the way back, and we can bring it to the jarl so that he can use it for the Hold. We’ll camp here for the night. Gather the horses up. I’ll get some dinner ready.”

Alorn and the others left to round up the horses. They had run off during the fight, but Alorn and the others were able to wrangle them together and secure them for the night. Alorn pulled his bedroll from Jerall’s saddle and set it up around the fire. Soreld passed out some dried meat, salted crackers, and cheese. When everyone had finished, they set up a guard shift and went to sleep.

The next morning, they quickly ate some breakfast, packed up the extra supplies they had found from the towers and were soon on their way. The rest of the journey passed without event. The road had started to take them south through Eastmarch, and Alorn enjoyed the cover of the forests again. The sun had been beating down on them for several hours, and the shade of the trees was a great relief. By the end of the day they had made it to the more southern part of the hold, and the large expanse of hot springs had started to stretch to the east.

“We’ll make our way to Darkwater Crossing to camp for the night,” said Soreld. “I know a family that lives there, and I’m sure they’ll let us stay for the night. Then in the morning, we can begin our search.”

The rest of the group mumbled their approval and followed him further on. They came to a smaller dirt path that led off the main road that Soreld led them down. At the end of the road was a small hamlet. People were out in the cool evening air talking with one another, and children ran together through the houses. Soreld led the way to a small home that was set about a hundred yards off the banks of the river. There were several drying racks set up around the house with different assortments of fish on them, along with a small garden.

As they approached the hut, Soreld and the others dismounted, and Soreld made his way to the front door. He knocked, and the door opened to reveal a Nord man, around the same age as him.

“Soreld! How are you?” asked the man. “It’s been quite some time.”

“I’m doing well, Verner,” Soreld answered.

They shook hands and embraced.

“Please, come right inside. Enjoy some food and drink with my wife and me.”

Alorn followed Soreld inside Verner’s home. He remembered their home a bit. He had stopped here once with his father many years ago on a trip to Riften. The room wasn’t terribly large, but it was comfortable. It was lit by a few candles and oil lamps, and a fireplace was situated at the back wall to the right of the door with a few chairs set up around it. A door lay on the right side of the fireplace leading into another room. The dining table sat across the other side of the room with a counter for preparing food. A woman stood at the counter making the final preparations for dinner.

“Look who decided to stop by, Annekke,” Verner said.

Annekke turned to see Soreld, and a smile lit her face.

“It’s so good to see you, Soreld! It’s been a long time.”

“That it has, Annekke,” Soreld replied. “How are both of you? How goes work in the mine?”

“It could be better,” said Verner. “We’ve hit a dry spell recently. This rock here is rich with corundum ore, and we were pulling quite a bit of it out. But it’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve found anything of worth to sell.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, we’ll survive,” said Annekke. “How are you? What brings you here? You haven’t stopped here for quite some time.”

“We’re looking for a certain cave in the hot springs. We needed a place to rest before we started tomorrow.”

“We can help you out there,” replied Verner. “There’s plenty of room in here to set up your bedrolls. It won’t be a bed, but it’ll be warm and dry.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Now, who all do you have with you?” asked Annekke.

“This is Maurice, a new friend, and a pilgrim of Kynareth, and Fenrarne. I believe you’ve already met my son, Alorn.”

“We have. It’s been a while, though. How old are you now, Alorn?” Verner asked.

“I’m seventeen,” replied Alorn.

“Almost a man!”

“That he is,” Soreld said as he beamed proudly at Alorn.

Annekke had prepared a wonderful meal. A large pot of venison stew was simmering over the fire, and she had also baked bread that day. Alorn poured himself a bowl of the stew and buttered some bread as the conversation continued.

“How is the rest of the town doing?” Soreld asked.

“It’s doing well,” responded Annekke. “Farming is great as usual. The river really helps to provide the needed moisture. The fishing has been very successful as well. Some of the men have also taken to the lumber industry. Sondas has been saying that he would like to build a lumber mill. It would work well with the river right there.”

“It’s just the same quiet ol’ town that you saw the last time you were here,” said Verner.

“I’m glad things are going well here,” replied Soreld. “Do you have much trouble with bandits here?”

“Occasionally. Jarl Ulfric usually provides enough men to help protect the town though, so bandit attacks aren’t quite as frequent.”

“Do they roam around here often?”

“I’ve seen a band or two moving through the area before,” answered Annekke.

“Alright. We’ll be sure to keep an eye out for any while we’re out tomorrow,” replied Soreld. “Thank you so much for the food and shelter.”

“Absolutely!” said Verner. “You are welcome to stay with us any time you’re around.”

After dinner, Alorn and the others helped to clean up the table, then they set up their bedrolls and went to sleep.

The next morning, Alorn and the others woke to the smell of food cooking throughout the house. Plates had been set up at the table, along with some scrambled eggs, ham, and more of the bread from last night. Alorn also noticed four bags that had been set up beside the doorway.

“Good, you’re all awake,” said Annekke. “Breakfast is ready. Verner won’t be joining us. He’s already left to go work in the mines, but he said to wish you all the best in your search today. I’ve also taken the liberty to prepare some food for you as well for the day.”

“Thank you, Annekke. That was very kind,” Soreld replied.

They packed up their bedrolls and got some breakfast before leaving. Annekke met them at the door and gave each of them one of the bags of supplies as they left.

“Thank you all for coming to visit. Good luck with your search. And be careful out there!” Annekke called after them.

They called back their thanks as they gathered their horses and rode away. They rode out of Darkwater Crossing and into the hot springs just northeast of the town, following the map that Danica had given them. Alorn dismounted Jerall and secured him to a tree near the edge of the water. He made his way on the dry ground between pools till he made it to a large rock formation. He found small dens for animals, but nothing that a man could fit through to visit an ancient tree. They all continued to search the area but were unable to find any cave. After a few hours of searching, they regrouped to have lunch.

“So, where do we search now?” asked Fenrarne. “Danica didn’t really give us a very specific area to search.”

“There are some rocky hills more northeast of where we are,” Alorn replied. “I think we should head there next to look. We just have to make sure that we check all of the rock formations that we can because that’s where the cave is most likely to be.”

“Alright. We’ll head there after we finish lunch,” said Soreld.

Alorn surveyed the area as he ate, looking for any obvious signs of a cave. As he looked, he noticed Maurice starring forlornly on his piece of bread.

“What’s the matter, Maurice?” Alorn asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he replied. “I’m just worried that we won’t find the cave. I’ve dreamt of being able to visit the Eldergleam for years, and I’m so close. I just don’t want to lose the opportunity.”

“You won’t. We’ll find the cave.”

“I hope so.”

Alorn patted him on the shoulder, then he packed up the food he hadn’t eaten yet and packed it back in his saddlebag.

“I’m headed back out to look for the cave,” he announced. “I’ll meet you guys out there.”

“Just be careful, son,” Soreld replied.

“I will,” said Alorn as he walked away.

He made his way further northeast of where they had been looking to another group of large rocks. As he approached, he noticed a large opening in the side of the hill. He broke into a run to get a look inside. He looked around and saw a light coming from deeper inside the cave. Clusters of mushrooms lined the walls and the floor, and Alorn could see green plants further inside.

“Everyone, come look at this!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Soon the rest of the group had gathered around. They followed as Alorn started to make his way deeper into the cave. The path stretched like a tunnel for a time, till suddenly it opened into a large, cavernous area. Water poured in from a crack in the roof at the back of the cave creating a small stream that ran through. All kinds of different plant life bloomed and grew inside, and a large hole at the top of the cave let in beautiful sunlight.

However, the most beautiful thing of all was the large tree that grew in the cavern. Its branches spread in all directions, and brilliant pink petals were blossoming on every bough. Other adventurers and pilgrims were already in the cave gazing at the glorious tree. However, Alorn noticed that there weren’t any people near the trunk of the Eldergleam. He found the path up to the tree and saw that large roots had grown over it, and there was no other path that would allow travelers near it either.

“What now?” asked Fenrarne.

“We get some sap I guess,” Alorn answered. “How do we do that, Maurice? The Eldergleam has grown roots over the path up to it.”

“I could petition the spirit of the Eldergleam for some of its sap,” he responded thoughtfully. “I would rather not have to use Nettlebane on the tree any more than we need to. Let me talk, and I’ll see if I can get it to help us.”

He made his way as close to the tree as he could get and knelt down. The rest watched anxiously for a time till he rose and walked back to them.

“The Eldergleam has accepted to help restore the Gildergreen tree. Give me the vial and Nettlebane, and I will retrieve the sap.”

Alorn handed him the items, and Maurice made his way to the path of the tree. The giant roots pulled back as Maurice walked forward till he reached the trunk of the Eldergleam. After a few minutes, he made his way back down to the group and presented the sap to Alorn. It was clear and golden, and it gave off a faint light in the darkened cave.

“Here you are. Sap from the Eldergleam. It should help to restore the Gildergreen,” Maurice said.

“Thank you so much for your help Maurice,” replied Alorn.

“It was my pleasure. Thank you so much for bringing me along. I have looked forward to this day for a long time. It is an honor to finally gaze upon the Eldergleam tree, and to have been allowed to approach it. I think I’m going to stay here for a while and continue to enjoy its beauty. Thank you again for bringing me with you. I hope you have a safe journey back to Whiterun.”

“You’re welcome, Maurice. And thank you again,” said Soreld. “Safe travels to you as well.”

After saying their last goodbyes, Alorn and the others left the great Eldergleam Sanctuary and made their way back to Whiterun.

 

* * *

 

“Well done, Alorn,” Farengar said as he examined the Eldergleam sap. “I’m sure Danica will be very excited to get this.”

Alorn and the others had arrived back in Whiterun about midday, and Alorn had stopped by the palace to report back to Farengar. He had also wanted to deliver the gold they had gathered from the bandits to Jarl Balgruuf.

“Do you know where Proventus is?” asked Alorn.

“Probably with the jarl warning him to be cautious of how he eats his food,” muttered Farengar. “No, I don’t know where he is at the moment. Ask one of the guards to find him.”

Alorn started to make his way to one of the guards near the jarl’s throne when Proventus walked out of one of the connecting rooms to the Great Hall.

“Proventus!” Alorn called.

“Alorn. How can I help you?” replied Proventus.

“I have some gold to give to the jarl. While we were helping Danica with the Gildergreen, we ran across some bandits at the Valtheim Towers. They were harassing travelers and trying to bully them into paying a toll. We took care of them, and we also found their stash of gold. We thought it best to give it to the jarl.”

“Oh! I see. Thank you! The jarl will be very pleased to hear the news of the bandits. We had just recently received news of their presence and were preparing to take care of the problem. I’ll be sure that you receive a share of the gold for your service.”

“That’s not necessary,” assured Alorn.

“Of course it is!” Proventus insisted. “You have helped the jarl a great deal, and we can’t let that go unrewarded. I’ll have someone take the gold to your home after it’s been accounted for.”

Proventus gave his thanks again and then made his way to the upper level of the palace. Alorn left Dragonsreach and made his way to the Temple of Kynareth. He asked after Danica and was directed to one of the healing wards. He found Danica near the back of the ward tending to one of the patients. As she finished, she noticed Alorn standing near the doorway and went to meet him.

“Did you get it?” she asked excitedly.

“We did,” responded Alorn as he handed her the Eldergleam sap.

She examined the vial happily and then stashed it away in her robe.

“Thank you Alorn! This will help to restore the tree. How could we thank you?”

“That’s not necessary,” said Alorn. “We were happy to help.”

Alorn made his way back to Dragonsreach to help Farengar. When he reached the study, Alorn was surprised to find the jarl and Farengar in a heated discussion.

“I will hear no more of it!” the jarl snapped. “It’s nonsense!”

“It’s not nonsense, Jarl Balgruuf! If I’m right, this could be catastrophic!” Farengar insisted.

“This is just the product of your obsession, nothing more! I have real things to worry about. I need your help with the recent attacks in the hold. So, put this aside and help me!”

The jarl then left, leaving Farengar fuming in the study.

“What was that about?” Alorn asked.

“Nothing important apparently!” Farengar snarled. “I’m sorry. That man just frustrates me so much sometimes. He wants me to counsel him in matters of magic yet most of the time dismisses my input.”

“What did he mean by recent attacks?”

“Oh, there has been news that a small village was attacked a few days ago. No survivors and no leads on who did it.”

“Why would someone do that? What’s the point?”

“I don’t know. But, as much as I hate to admit it, the jarl is right. I should be more concerned about this attack right now,” Farengar sighed as he sat down at his desk.

“What were you talking to the jarl about anyway?” probed Alorn.

“It was nothing. You needn’t worry about any of this right now. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, I was just coming to see what you needed me to do today,” replied Alorn.

“Don’t be foolish,” scoffed Farengar. “You just got back today. The rest of the day is yours to recover. You can come back again tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind helping now.”

“Go home and rest, Alorn. That’s what you can do to help me.”

“Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. I'm sorry it was a little longer. It was nice to introduce Anneke and Verner because they're going to show up later in the story again. Anyway, as usual, please leave your comments below. Have a great week!


	8. Dragons and City Guards

Sun’s Dawn, 4E 196

Alorn pulled his cloak closer against the biting wind. Snow fell thick in the winter storm, leaving Alorn longing for a roof over his head and a warm fire. But that would have to wait. He continued to watch a small camp in the distance for signs of life. Two mages had managed to sneak into Farengar’s study and had stolen some precious items from him. Alorn had tracked them to their camp in the forest near Riverwood with orders to bring them into custody and retrieve the stolen items. He had taken Fenrarne and a group of 10 city guards to help, and they were dispersed throughout the area to watch as well.

Alorn tugged the hood of his cloak lower to help protect his face and eyes from the snow in the whipping wind. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the snowy haze and walked into the camp. Another figure appeared out of the camp to meet him. They seemed to talk for a time before they both made their way into their tent. Alorn whistled to Wulf, a captain in the city guard, to move in. He sent the signal to the rest of his men, and they began to converge on the camp.

As they drew closer, Alorn signaled for them to hold while he checked for traps. Farengar had been teaching him to sense magical presences in order to avoid runes and other magical barriers. Alorn still wasn’t particularly good at it, but he could pick things up the closer he was. Not being able to sense anything in the immediate perimeter, Alorn gave the signal to continue to move. Once they were in the camp, he motioned for two of the guards to circle behind the tent to cut off a possible escape.

“You in there,” Alorn called. “Come out with your hands above your heads!”

After a minute, one of the men walked out of the tent. He was a Dunmer, and he wore a thick, black robe and cloak. He held his hands above his head as he looked around in confusion.

“What’s the problem here?” he inquired.

“You’ve stolen from Jarl Balgruuf’s court wizard and are to be brought in immediately with your partner,” Wulf answered.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. It’s just me out here.”

“We know there’s two of you here,” Wulf retorted. “Come quietly and no one will get hurt.”

“I don’t know about that,” the Dunmer said with a smirk.

He jumped back inside the tent as large webs of lightning shot from the edge of the camp at Alorn and his men. A bolt connected with his back and dropped him to the ground. He yelled in pain as the electrocution continued. He managed to look around to see all of his men in the same position. He then noticed a few small gems sticking out of the snow at the edge of the camp. Soul gems. They had been enchanted to fire at any intruders. Alorn knew that if he could just knock one of them out of place it would ruin the connectivity of all the others. After a lot of effort, he was able to cast a concentrated bolt of fire that knocked over one of the soul gems.

Immediately the gems went still, and Alorn was able to get up from the ground. Many of the men soon followed, though one of them lay motionless except for an occasion twitch. Alorn ran into the tent to see it empty. When he looked out the back, the two men who had been there had been stabbed as the mages made a run for it. Luckily, the tracks in the snow were still fresh enough to follow.

“Follow me!” Alorn shouted as he took off in the direction the mages had gone.

He and the guards ran through the forest as quick as they could. As they got further in, Alorn noticed a large figure coming at them until a bear appeared through the haze. He managed to jump out of the way as the bear barreled through the snow and into the guards. One of the men screamed as the bear tore at him with tooth and claw. The guards that had spears began to circle the bear and stab it from a distance. Alorn went to rush in and help when Wulf stopped him.

“We’ll take care of this, sir. You go and find them before they get away.”

Alorn nodded and took off after the tracks again. He moved as quickly as he could, but the snow had almost risen to his knees, and the mages were nowhere to be seen.

_Dammit! How do they move so fast in this snow?_

Just then, the mages appeared from the tree line. Alorn finally saw that the other mage was a middle-aged Breton man, and they were both dressed in a very similar fashion.

“You…are under…arrest,” gasped Alorn through large intakes of air.

“Tired, are you?” goaded the Dunmer.

“Of course…I am! How aren’t you?”

The two only snickered in response.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re coming with me.”

“I don’t think so,” said the Breton.

Alorn felt the ground shudder and a pair of glowing blue eyes appear above the two mages.

_Oh no…_

 

* * *

 

A large paw slammed into Fenrarne’s chest, sending him sprawling into the snow. He looked in amazement to see a bear tearing through the surprised guards. It managed to get a hold of one of the men, and he let out a shriek as the bear ripped off a chunk of flesh. The rest of the men sprang into action. They surrounded the beast and began trying to disorient it. When it struck out at one of the men, the rest would rush in and stab and slash at it till it changed directions.

Fenrarne rushed in to help take care of the beast. As it turned itself to one of the men across from him, he lodged his axe deep into the bear’s back. It reared up in pain, exposing its underbelly to the spearheads of the guards. The bear let out a groan as multiple spears sunk in. It toppled to the ground with a thud. Fenrarne removed his axe from the beast’s back just as it suddenly disappeared.

“What just happened?” asked one of the guards.

“It must have been one of the mages’ beasts,” answered Wulf. “I’ve heard they can conjure different animals to fight. Now, let's move. Master Alorn is going to need our help.”

They followed the tracks deeper into the woods. Fenrarne peered ahead through the darkness, trying to get a glimpse of Alorn. Suddenly, a cry pierced the air, and Alorn landed hard against the forest floor a few feet in front of them.

“Alorn!” Fenrarne called as he ran up. “What happened?”

“Giant!” gasped Alorn.

Fenrarne looked up to see the gargantuan creature racing towards them. Its eyes glowed blue in the darkness, and it let out a bellow as it charged.

“Ysmir’s beard!” one of the guards shouted.

Fenrarne managed to help Alorn get out of the creature’s way as it came through. He picked up his axe and charged back into the fight, slashing each of the giant’s legs from behind. It let out a cry and kicked in Fenrarne’s direction. He sidestepped the kick and then plunged his blade into the other leg. It let out another bellow and flailed its club around. One pass hit a guard across his left arm. There was a loud crunch, and the men dropped to the ground screaming.

Fenrarne stepped back and waited. If they wanted to kill this thing, they were going to need to bring it to the ground. The giant kicked out again, and Fenrarne took his chance. As the giant’s foot was in the air, he rushed in and hacked at the other leg as many times as he could. He was relieved as the large creature began to fall. It hit the ground and the men rushed in. After a few blows to its chest and head, the creature finally went still and disintegrated into a pile of dust which blew away in the wind. Fenrarne took a moment to look for Alorn only to find he had disappeared again.

 _Now where_ _is he?_

Explosions and flashes of light in the distance came in answer.

“Raerek, see to the fallen,” commanded Wulf. “If any of them are still alive, do what you can to help them. The rest of you, let's go check on Master Alorn.”

By the time they had reached the area where the lights had been flashing, all had gone quiet. Fearing the worst, Fenrarne ran harder to get to Alorn. To his and everyone else’s surprise, Alorn stood over the two mages’ unconscious bodies.

“Do you have those enchanted cuffs, Wulf?” Alorn asked.

“Uh, yes sir,” Wulf responded.

“Good! Because we’re going to need them.”

 

* * *

 

“Take them away!” Farengar said with disgust, and the guards dragged the mages away.

“How’d it go? Was everything still intact?” Farengar asked excitedly.

“It went fine, mostly. We lost a few good men,” Alorn responded.

He grabbed the bag that he had confiscated from the mages and began pulling out Farengar’s things. He was most surprised by the number of books that he removed from the bag.

 _What would they want with all of these,_ he asked himself. Of all the things they could have stolen, they decided to steal books. And one of them was Farengar’s personal journal!

Farengar grabbed his journal quickly and began rummaging through the pages. After he seemed content that nothing was gone or destroyed, he set his things on his desk and sat down.

“What would they have wanted with your journal anyway?” Alorn questioned.

Farengar hesitated a second too long.

“I really don’t know,” he replied. “There’s nothing special in there.”

Alorn nodded as his curiosity about the contents of the journal grew.

As Alorn sat down to begin transcribing notes, one of the jarl’s attendants appeared in the doorway of the study.

“Master Farengar, Jarl Balgruuf has summoned you to his council chambers.”

“Now?” asked Farengar impatiently.

“Yes, sir. He said it’s urgent business.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure it is,” Farengar muttered under his breath. “Alright, tell him I’m on my way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, Alorn. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Hopefully, I’ll be back soon. Unless Proventus is there. Then we’ll never leave.”

Alorn watched him as he disappeared around the corner and waited a few minutes. When Farengar didn’t reappear, Alorn grabbed his journal and began rifling through the pages.

_What could possibly be in here that a couple of random mages would want?_

Alorn was stunned to find pages and pages of notes on dragons and the lore around them. He knew that Farengar found them interesting, but he hadn’t realized how big the obsession was. However, he still couldn’t find anything that he thought would be valuable to anyone else.

_I’m missing something. There’s got to be some kind of information here that I’m not seeing._

He noticed that some of the earlier notes on dragons were more academic in nature. Farengar had noted facts and observations that others had made and had written some of his own theories down. But as Alorn looked at later notes, it seemed that Farengar was starting to piece something together. Alorn reached into his own bag and grabbed some blank paper to jot notes down. He knew he probably wasn’t going to get another chance to do this, so he tried to get as much as he could.

As Alorn wrote down one of the titles of the books Farengar had mentioned, he noticed that the same books had been stolen by the mages.

 _They know something that Farengar knows, whatever that is,_ he mused.

He spent the next hour writing as much as he could into his own notes. After he had gotten enough information, he closed the journal and moved it back where he had gotten it and resumed his work again. He didn’t want Farengar to get upset at him for not getting enough written down. He worked for another hour or so before he heard footsteps approaching. Farengar came around the corner massaging his temples.

“Two and a half hours talking about security!” he thundered. “All because Proventus can’t keep his mouth shut for just one meeting!”

Alorn just kept on writing. Best to avoid conversation when he was like this.

“What are you still doing here?” demanded Farengar.

“Oh, uh, I was just doing what you asked. Transcribing notes,” stammered Alorn.

“Well, you can quit. You’re done for the day.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alorn jumped up, packed his things as quickly as he could and started to leave.

“Alorn,” Farengar called.

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you for your help today. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“And I’m sorry I snapped at you. I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

Alorn smiled.

“Thank you, sir.”

He knew that Farengar could be a real grump at times, but he also knew that he could still be soft too. He did get irritated easily, but he cared about others. Alorn was happy to be able to work with him.

Alorn pulled on his coat and cloak and stepped out into the snowstorm. The ends of his cloak danced wildly with the snow on the wind. His house had never felt further away than it did in this frigid wind. He picked up the pace and jogged the rest of the way home. He sighed with relief as the warmth of the hearth rushed over his frozen skin. He removed his cloak and coat and promptly sat in a chair by the fire. As he warmed his hands, his father walked down the stairs.

“Alorn! You made it back!” Soreld exclaimed. “How did it go?”

“Well, we got everything back that they stole from Master Farengar. I swear it was colder than Coldharbour out there though. Still is.”

“You’ll probably want some food then,” chuckled Soreld.

“Yes, please! I’m starving.”

“There’s some roasted venison on the counter with some bread and cheese. Eat all you want. I’ve already had some.”

Alorn jumped up and dished as much food as he could fit on his plate. Within minutes it was clean. He then poured himself a mug of ale to wash everything down and sat back and relaxed. He was beginning to doze when he remembered Farengar’s notes he had copied. He was extremely curious to figure out why they were so important. He put his mug and plate away and grabbed his bag.

“I’m going to bed, Pa! I’ll see you tomorrow!” he called.

“Sleep well,” came the reply.

After he got settled, Alorn cast Magelight and pulled out his copied notes. He searched scrupulously through them, but he still wasn’t able to piece anything together. Part of the notes mentioned some prophecy that had been stated in a book, but Alorn didn’t have any of the books that were cited. When his brain started to hurt, he decided to jot down a couple of the books that seemed most important, then went to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Here are the new recruits, sir,” Wulf reported.

Commander Caius followed Wulf into the palace courtyard. He was a tall Imperial man with scars that streaked across his face, and he had a scour that could melt the hardest ice. He was dressed in full officer’s uniform and a thick cloak, and a large longsword hung from his waist.

The sun had finally peeked out from behind the clouds that day, but the wind’s bite was still fierce. Fenrarne had to fight with all his might to stop from shivering uncontrollably in front of his new commanding officer. He stood at attention with the other recruits as Commander Caius looked them over.

“At ease men,” he ordered. “You have made it through the initial steps to join the city guard, and you are now ready to begin the rigorous training of auxiliaries. For the next two months, you will be spending your time training with the bow, spear, and another weapon of your choice. You will also have different patrol shifts within the city throughout the day. I know many of you may have families, but for these next two months, you will be quartering in the guard barracks. When your training is complete, those of you with families outside of the city may return to your hometowns for duty. Those of you in the city may also return to your families while you are not on duty.

“As members of the city guard, I expect the highest quality of service and work from you. You are the city’s first line of defense. I will not tolerate idleness or inattentiveness. This will not be an easy task. If any of you are unwilling to give me everything you’ve got, leave now.”

None of the recruits moved.

“Good. That’s what I like to see. Now, Captain Wulf will show you to your barracks and outfit you with your new uniform. Dismissed!”

He then nodded to Captain Wulf and made his way back to the palace.

“Follow me,” said Wulf.

He led them through the city and towards the eastern wall. They came to a building that connected to the outer wall, and Wulf led them inside. Fenrarne was grateful to feel the heat the fireplace roll over him. Ten beds lined the room with a chest at the foot of each bed. Two other doors were situated on the northern and eastern walls of the room. A few candles helped to light the room, but most of the light came from the fireplace. It was overall rather dark.

“This is your new home for the next two months,” Wulf informed them. “Each barracks is equipped with its own armory.”

He opened the northern door to reveal a room full of weapons, shields, and guard uniforms.

“Most anything you will need for equipment can be found here. Here is a register of all of the equipment. You are to update it regularly. If anything needs to be resupplied, inform me.

“This,” he said pointing to the eastern door, “leads directly into the outer wall. This allows you to move to and from wall shifts with ease, and you can have quick access to the wall in the case of an attack.

“You will find the key to your chest on the inside. This is the room you have for any personal belongings, so use it wisely. Meals are at six, twelve, and six in the mess hall which I will show you later. If you have any questions, you are to bring them to me. I will be in charge of your unit. In time, we will also assign one of you as a squad leader. Are there any questions now?”

“No, sir,” they barked.

“Very well. You have half an hour to settle in and outfit yourself before we continue. Welcome to the city guard.”

Wulf left, and the men began claiming beds. Fenrarne took an empty one at the back, near the armory. He opened the chest at the foot of his bed and grabbed the key from the bottom. He placed what little belongings he had inside and locked it up.

As he placed the key in one of his belt pouches, Fenrarne took a moment to take everything in. He had been looking forward to the day for a while now. His father had been in the city guard in his earlier years, and Fenrarne had looked forward to when he could join as well. Now, here he was.

 _Why did I decide to join in the middle of winter though?_ he asked himself.

He got up and followed the others into the armory and began searching through the uniforms till he found one that fit. They consisted of a thick, dark grey winter gambeson and fur boots and gauntlets, along with a chainmail shirt, a scaled cuirass, and a yellow sash and cloak with the sigil of Whiterun. Fenrarne also armed himself with a war axe and dagger. By the time he and the others had finished changing and arming themselves, Wulf had arrived to continue their orientation.

“You lot are beginning to look like real soldiers now,” he said proudly. “Now follow me.”

He proceeded to show them their section of jurisdiction over the city, the mess hall, the jail, and lastly, the training arena. Three people, two men, and a woman stood and waited as they approached.

“These three will be in charge of you battle training. This is Athis, Vilkas, and Aela,” he said. “Those of you who feel more comfortable training with a single-handed weapon and shield will be working with Athis. Vilkas will help those of you who wish to specialize in two-handed weapons, and Aela will train you with the bow. Regardless of your choice of weapon, each of you will spend time training with Vilkas and Aela as you all will be expected to know how to use a spear and bow. Are there any other questions concerning your training?”

After a moment of silence, Wulf replied, “If there are no questions, then it’s time for dinner. After dinner is over, the rest of the day is yours to spend as you like. Your training starts tomorrow.”

Wulf led them back to the mess hall. The smell of food wafted through the air, and Fenrarne’s stomach growled in response. He followed the rest of his squad to an empty table after they had gotten their food. He began shoveling roasted potatoes and meat into his mouth as he listened to the general hubbub of the room.

“Can you believe we’re being trained by three members of the Companion’s?” asked one of the men in his squad.

“Yeah, that seems pretty weird. Don’t they have more important things to do?” replied another.

“Who cares? They’re some of the greatest warriors in all of Skyrim!” said the first.

Fenrarne tried to remember his name. They had talked a bit earlier, and he had introduced himself.

 _What was it? Stevar…Stervan? Oh, Stenvar!_ He was a little older than Fenrarne was. In fact, most of the men were. He was one of the youngest in his group. There was only one other that was his age. Most of the men were around 25-years-old, though there were a couple of men that seemed to be about 30.

Fenrarne continued to eat in silence as the men talked amongst themselves about their new duties. He was excited about this new job, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk. He thought back to that night several months ago when he had helped a group of boys attack one of his best friends. That night still bothered him, but that’s one of the reasons why he had joined the city guard. The city was big, and there were a lot more people out there who did things like that. Fenrarne wanted to be able to stop it. He made a mistake that night, and he couldn’t stop what he had done. But now he could stop others from doing it. There were people out there who couldn’t defend themselves, and this was his chance to help them.

“Hey, you doing alright?” asked a man named Gjalund.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine. Just thinking,” replied Fenrarne.

“Good.”

“So, what’s your name?” asked one of the men.

“Fenrarne.”

“Nice to meet you, Fenrarne. Mine’s Alethius,” the man responded.

Everyone else took a moment and introduced themselves as well. There were Garrus and Gjalund who were the oldest, and both had families. Then there was Bolund, who was around Fenrarne’s age, Heidmir, Kuvar, Ontus, Stenvar, and Ulran. Bolund, Garrus, Kuvar, Ontus, and Alethius were all from Whiterun. Heidmir and Ulran were from Rorikstead, Gjalund was from Freeridge, and Stenvar was from Ruinhawk.

“A few of us were planning on going to The Bannered Mare,” said Heidmir as he stood. “You all are welcome to come if you’d like.”

The men mumbled their agreement and followed. Fenrarne decided to go along as well and get to know everyone else more. When they arrived, they seated themselves as close to the fireplace as they could. One of the barmaids came by and took their orders.

“So, why did you all decide to join the guard?” asked Bolund as the barmaid returned with their drinks.

“I needed a steady job,” replied Garrus. “I had been working with a man named Amren before this doing mercenary work, but it just hasn’t been bringing in enough money for my family.”

Several of the men agreed that they needed money as well.

“Honestly, I just thought it sounded fun,” said Ulran.

“You thought it sounded fun?” came a voice from behind.

They all turned to see a man approaching from the other side of the inn. Fenrarne recognized him immediately. He didn’t know his name, but he was infamous for harassing the city guards, always claiming that they were lazy and undisciplined.

“What do you want, Sinmir?” asked Garrus.

“Being a guard isn’t about having fun,” snapped Sinmir. “It’s a serious and important job, which none of you seem to take seriously.”

“Leave Ulran alone. He’s just a lad. He’ll learn,” replied Garrus.

“Sit down, milk drinker,” Sinmir snarled.

“What did you just call him?” Ontus asked menacingly.

“You heard me. You’re all a bunch of milk drinkers. You and that so-called ‘commander’ of yours. None of you have the discipline you need to protect Whiterun and the rest of the hold.”

Ontus moved to confront Sinmir, but the others caught him and held him back.

“Don’t do it, Ontus. It’s what he wants,” said Alethius.

“Let him go. Let the snowback prove himself!” taunted Sinmir.

“If you’re so great, why don’t you join the guard and show us up?” retorted Fenrarne.

“And have to follow Caius? No thank you. I’d rather rot away in Coldharbour or the Deadlands!”

“Then damn you to Oblivion, snowberries,” Fenrarne growled.

Many of the patrons had gathered around during the argument. As Fenrarne turned away, Sinmir went to lunge at him but was caught by some of those watching.

“That’s right! Walk away, you bastards! Run like the cowards you are!” he yelled.

Fenrarne and the others left the inn and began their walk back to the barracks. Ontus was fuming by the time they made it inside.

“I can’t believe that bastard had the gall to talk to us like that! I mean, what did we ever do to him?”

“It’s alright, Ontus,” said Stenvar. “Just forget about him.”

“Exactly!” said Heidmir. “Let’s just not forget that Fenrarne called him ‘snowberries’.”

“Yeah! Go Fenrarne!” shouted Stenvar.

The rest of the men laughed and clapped Fenrarne on the back as they began getting ready for bed.

“He had it coming,” said Fenrarne with a shrug.

“That he did,” laughed Gjalund. “Good job standing up to him.”

Fenrarne smiled to himself as he finished removing his armor and climbed into bed. It had been a crazy day. Most of it had been a blur to him, but he had made a lot of new friends. He was excited for the days ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you're all doing well! So, I obviously made up the towns Freeridge and Ruinhawk. I wanted there to be more small villages throughout Skyrim. You'll probably see a few more throughout the story.  
> Also, I'm really excited to have started getting into Fenrarne's perspective of the story. As things continue, you'll see more of his point of view as well. I'm also excited to have the Companions helping with their training. I figured that each of the Companions that I picked was already a trainer in the game. And as a paid mercenary group, it made sense that they could take that position as a job to train the new recruits.  
> And last, but not least, many of the names of the people in Fenrarne's squad are the names of people within the game, but they don't represent the people in the game. They are original characters.  
> Please feel free to share your thoughts! Take care!


	9. Leaving Home

Sun’s Dawn, 4E 196

Alorn set his quill down as he rubbed the blurriness from his eyes. He had been reading and writing for most of the day, and it was really starting to stain his eyes. As he sat back to rest, his eyes began to droop. He drifted to sleep before he realized what was happening. All was dark around him for a time. Then large columns of flame rose from the ground, consuming everything around Alorn. His body rose above the ground, and he saw the whole world covered in flames. A large winged beast rose from the fire till it filled the whole sky. Screams ripped through the air as chaos ensued below. The beast’s red eyes then fixed on Alorn.

 _“You cannot stop me!”_ he heard in his mind. _“All will be mine, and it will burn!”_

Alorn woke with a start. At some point during the dream, he had fallen to the ground. He could feel a large goose egg forming on the back of his head. He stood up and stretched as he mulled over the dream. The beast had felt familiar to him somehow, though he couldn’t figure out why. And what was it supposed to mean? A sense of anxiety washed over him the more he thought about it.

He decided to take a break before he continued. He summoned a sword and began working on some drills to clear his mind and warm up his muscles. He had been so busy lately helping Farengar that he hadn’t been taking as much time to practice with the blade, and his body felt it. His movements weren’t as smooth as they used to be, and his muscles were starting to tire quicker than usual. But he pushed through, working from the most basic drills to the more advanced ones. He swung and stabbed, training his body to move with his blade to attack and defend.

When he had finished, he dismissed the sword and began to stretch out his now tight muscles. A light clap began behind him, and Alorn turned to see Farengar standing in the opening of his study.

“That was quite impressive,” he remarked. “Soreld has taught you very well I can see.”

“Thank you,” said Alorn. “He really has been a great teacher.”

After a moment, Farengar said, “You must be tired of writing. Come with me.”

Alorn frowned in confusion as he followed. They made their way past the jarl’s throne and up to the second level. Alorn followed Farengar till they came to the doors of the Great Porch.

“Wait, I need to grab my coat,” said Alorn.

“No you won’t,” Farengar replied.

He opened the doors and walked out before Alorn could argue. Alorn followed after and braced himself for the biting cold. To his surprise, however, the air was warmer than inside the palace. He looked out at the porch and saw that none of the falling snow was blowing inside. It whipped past in the wind, but something seemed to keep it away like extremely clear glass.

“Do you like it?” asked Farengar. “The jarl enjoys the occasional meal out here to look over the wintry landscape. So I cast a spell to keep the snow and wind out. I’ve also infused the floor with its own heat.”

Alorn reached down and felt the stones. Sure enough, a warm and piercing heat radiated from them. It cut right through the cold and warmed to the bone.

“This is amazing!” exclaimed Alorn.

“The spell is actually not too complicated. It just takes some practice. Now, would you care to join me for a bite to eat?” Farengar gestured to a table that had been prepared for the two of them.

“I would love to!”

They ate in silence for the first few minutes before Farengar spoke again.

“Is it to your liking?” he asked.

“It is!” Alorn responded enthusiastically.

“Good,” said Farengar with a smile. After a brief pause, he added, “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it, master?”

“Alorn, you have a true gift,” said Farengar proudly. Then a frown darkened his face. “But I can’t keep teaching you.”

It took Alorn a minute to register what he had just heard. He stared blankly, then his eyes widened in dismay.

“But, Master Farengar, I need…” he began.

“Let me explain,” Farengar interrupted. “You are a wonderful student. You have done exactly as I have asked of you, and it has been an amazing experience teaching you. However, I don’t have the time or resources to teach you properly, to truly help you become a better mage.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” muttered Alorn.

“Maybe not,” responded Farengar. “But this might.”

He reached into a pouch on his belt and produced a folded piece of paper. Alorn opened it to reveal a letter from Farengar.

_To Whom it May Concern,_

_I, Farengar Secret-Fire, court wizard of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun Hold, do recommend Alorn Windrime as a potential student of the great College of Winterhold. I have overseen his training for several months now and believe that he would be an invaluable addition to the students of the college. His skill in magic is great, and he has a wonderful ability to learn and apply knowledge quickly. He is also very quick to follow instructions and does so with exactness and earnestness. You will not find a finer student._

_Farengar Secret-Fire,_

_Court Wizard of Whiterun Hold_

Alorn looked up in disbelief at Farengar who beamed with pride.

“Master Farengar…” Alorn began.

“I think you’re ready to go,” Farengar assured. “You’ve worked hard, and you understand magic. They are going to be able to do so much more for you there than I ever could.”

In an instant, Alorn had embraced Farengar. He grunted in surprise, then smiled and wrapped his arms around Alorn.

“Thank you so much!” Alorn whispered.

“You’re welcome, Alorn.”

 

* * *

 

Though the snow had stopped, the wind continued to rage as Alorn raced back home. The cold cut through right to the bone, and he was anxious to sit near the fireplace. As he ran past a couple of guards on patrol, he noticed one of them sounded very familiar. He stopped and looked back as he thought. Then it hit him.

“Fenrarne?” he called out.

One of the guards stopped and turned, removing his helmet. Fenrarne’s cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and he stared at Alorn in surprise.

“Alorn? Is that you?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s me,” answered Alorn as he walked over.

They gave each other a quick hug in greeting.

“How’ve you been?” asked Alorn. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been good,” Fenrarne responded. “I’ve been busy helping my pa at the forge, and then I just joined the city guard as well. It’s been crazy.”

“I bet! How is it?”

“Oh, you know. It’s cold as hell out here,” chuckled Fenrarne dryly. “It’s been good. A big learning experience for me. Turns out there’s quite a number of people who don’t like us.”

“That’s because they haven’t actually met you,” Alorn said with a wink. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it though. It’s exciting!”

“Yeah, it is! How about you?” asked Fenrarne.

“Well, it’s been the same old routine for me really. Though, I’m actually getting ready to head to Winterhold.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to join the college up there…hopefully. Farengar wrote me a letter of recommendation to take to them.”

“That’s great, Alorn! I’m happy for you! I just hope you don’t die from the cold up there. I hear the winter is awful there.”

“Neverending from what I’m told,” replied Alorn.

Fenrarne shivered in response. “You’re a braver man than I. I wish you the best! When do you leave?”

“I’m not sure,” Alorn responded. “But I want to leave soon.”

“Well, good luck my friend. Stay in touch.”

“Will do,” said Alorn.

They hugged once more before parting waves. Alorn waved as Fenrarne and the other guard continued their rounds. Then he took off again for his home.

Alorn burst into the house, snow blowing inside after him. He closed the door quickly and stripped off his coat and cloak.

“Pa!” he called.

Soreld stood at the counter in the back, and he turned quickly at Alorn’s call.

“What is it, son?” he asked.

“Look at this!” Alorn said excitedly as he raced over.

He handed Farengar’s letter of recommendation to Soreld, who looked it over for a couple of minutes. He looked back to Alorn with amazement and pride.

“This is wonderful, Alorn! I’m so happy for you,” he exclaimed. “When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Alorn. “I want to go as soon as I can.”

“We can get started in the morning,” responded Soreld.

Alorn nodded excitedly and hugged his father. Soreld wrapped his arms around him in return.

“I’m so proud of you, son. You’re going to do great there.”

“Thanks, Pa.”

After getting some dinner, Alorn ran to bed and quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, he woke to the smell of breakfast wafting throughout the house. He stepped out of his room and found Soreld frying eggs and ham over the fire.

“Good morning, son!” he boomed. “Would you do me a favor and pull some milk out of the icebox?”

“So, from outside?” Alorn chuckled to himself.

He grabbed one of the jugs of milk and placed it on the table.

“Anything else you need help with?” asked Alorn.

“Just grab some plates, forks, and cups for us.”

After Alorn had done so, he made his way back into his room, washed up and got dressed for the day. He began packing up his belongings while he waited. But as he did, the reality of leaving began to dawn on him. Doubt started to creep in, along with a sense of loss and sorrow at the thought of leaving his father. He had been separated from parents once before, and suddenly he wasn’t sure he could do it again. Unbidden tears began to well up as he thought about it. Soreld called for breakfast, and Alorn made his way back into the main room.

“Go ahead and dish your food…up,” said Soreld as he noticed Alorn’s tears. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know if I can do this, pa,” he wept quietly. “I don’t know if I can leave.”

Soreld rushed over and pulled Alorn into his arms.

“Oh, Alorn, of course you can do this,” he said as his own tears started to form. “This is a great opportunity for you. Besides, this won’t be the last time I see you. Every time I come to Winterhold, I’ll call on you.”

Alorn sat back and looked at his father. He loved this man. He had done so much for Alorn, giving him a home and a family. He was so grateful to call him his father.

“Okay, pa. I’ll hold you to it.”

 

* * *

 

Soreld walked quietly beside Alorn as they made their way to one of the wagon companies just outside the city walls. It was actually right next door to Soreld’s stable. As they walked, he tried to keep his mind preoccupied from thinking about Alorn leaving, though he knew he’d have to face it eventually.

He couldn’t admit it to Alorn, but this was harder for him than he had let on. Soreld had always wanted to be a father, but he had lost all hope of that when his wife and firstborn had died in childbirth. It had devastated him. He had never looked for another woman to marry after that.

Not many people knew about his late wife. Alorn certainly didn’t know about her. Soreld couldn’t tell him now. It would be too hard for both of them. He missed Hellina and their son terribly, and it had left a hole in his heart. But he had found Alorn, and that hole had been filled. One day, Soreld would tell Alorn just how much he meant to him, but it wouldn’t be today. Today would be hard enough as it was.

A deep ache began to spread through Soreld’s chest as they approached the company. He followed Alorn inside and approached the front desk. A Nord woman sat there shuffling through papers. She looked up at them and smiled as they approached.

“Soreld! How you are?” she asked.

“I’m doing well, Runa,” he replied.

“What can I do for you?”

“We need to hire a wagon to Winterhold.”

“Alright! And what do you have going on there if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My son is heading up there to join the college.”

Runa’s smile faded just a touch at the mention of the college and then was back in full force. A spark of annoyance flashed in Soreld at her reaction. He knew Runa fairly well from working so close to her, and he knew she was a good woman. But it didn’t stop her from being just like most other Nords, distrustful towards magic. He didn’t really understand that, and it bothered him even more now that Alorn was studying to become a mage.

“Alright. We can get him there,” answered Runa. “I’ll inform one of our drivers and we’ll get you all set to go.”

She quickly wrote some things down on and then made her way to the stables.

“I have some things for you,” Soreld said after a couple of minutes. He set down his satchel and pulled out a small bag of money and an amulet.

“There are about 200 septims in there. It’s not much, but it should help. And I had Lokheim make this for you,” he said as he handed Alorn the amulet. It had a silver pendant inlaid with a bronze hawk in flight.

“Our family crest,” said Alorn.

“Yes, so that you’ll always remember where you belong,” Soreld responded.

Alorn beamed and gave him a hug. Soreld pulled him in tight and fought back the tears that were threatening to reveal themselves.

 _Not yet!_ They pulled apart as Runa returned.

“Your wagon is ready, Master Windrime,” she informed.

They followed her back outside and over to one of the prepared carriages. A Nord man sat in the driver’s seat, and he grinned at Soreld and Alorn despite the cold.

“The name’s Bjorlam,” he said. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”

“Thank you,” Alorn responded. He turned back to Soreld with tears in his eyes. Before he could say anything, though, Soreld wrapped him in another hug.

“I love you so much, son. And I’m so proud of you.” Soreld’s tears flowed freely at last.

“I love you too, Pa.”

Soreld pulled back and smiled at Alorn. He began helping to get all of Alorn’s bags up onto the carriage. Once everything was packed, Alorn got in the back, and the carriage took off. Soreld watched till they disappeared, the tears falling freely down his face.

“He’s a wonderful young man,” said a voice next to Soreld. He turned in surprise to see Farengar standing next to him.

“When did you get here?” asked Soreld.

“Just now. I was hoping I’d get one more chance to say goodbye, but it seems I’ve missed the opportunity.

“My apologies, Farengar.”

“It’s not a problem. Would you mind if I walked with you?” asked Farengar.

“Not at all.”

They began their trek back through the city. The snow had finally quit falling after several days, and the sun had appeared from behind the clouds. The light shone on the snow and ice like a million brilliant diamonds. It was almost blinding but also so beautiful.

“What was Alorn like as a child?” Farengar asked.

Soreld was surprised by the abrupt question. “He was a very curious child. He liked to ask a lot of questions, and he was always wandering off to look at something new.”

“Has he always had his abilities with magic?”

“He has. He was always accidentally catching things on fire when he was younger. It’s a miracle he never burned down our home. But he had also warned me about his abilities, so I made sure to keep an eye out. He also recovered from his injuries much quicker than most people.”

“And did he have any other strange abilities that you noticed?” Farengar asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Anything different that you can think of. Did he ever say anything strange that you couldn’t understand?”

“No, not that I can think of. Why all the questions about Alorn, if you don’t mind my asking?” inquired Soreld.

“Oh, I was just always so busy working and teaching that I never had an opportunity to ask him questions about himself. That’s all,” said Farengar. Soreld nodded, but his suspicions remained. What did Farengar know about Alorn that he didn’t?

Farengar bid him farewell as they came to Soreld’s home and continued on to Dragonsreach. Soreld walked inside and stopped to look around. He could almost see shadows of Alorn running around the house at different ages. He remembered when Alorn had smuggled a young mudcrab into his room; when he had carved his name into one of the chair legs; when he had brought home a deer from his first hunt. Memory after memory flooded his mind as he looked around his home. Those years with Alorn had been the best of Soreld’s life. He was going to miss him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He took one last big breath to get a hold of his emotions and continued with his day.

 

* * *

 

Alorn woke with a start as the carriage hit a large bump in the road. He looked around himself in confusion. Where was he? Why was it so cold? As the sleep began to wear off his mind, he recalled that he was on his way to Winterhold. He began to notice more of his surroundings. The path they followed ran along the side of a mountain. A large open area stretched out to the east, the ground sloping and sometimes dropping off into jagged cliffs. Only the occasional tree dotted the landscape as they moved along. He recognized this stretch of road. They had almost made it to Winterhold.

Eventually, they came around a bend in the path and Winterhold rose before them. The college stood tall in the distance, surrounded by the remains of what had been a grand city. It saddened Alorn that Winterhold didn’t have enough resources to begin to rebuild. And with the civil war going on, there was even less help to go around.

It wasn’t long before they made it into town. Bjorlam pulled the carriage up next to the Frozen Hearth, and Alorn got out and grabbed all of his things. He gave Bjorlam his thanks and then made his way inside. He had stayed at the Frozen Hearth a couple of times with his father when they made trips up this way for work. Though the name sounded very dismal, it wasn’t too bad of a place to stay. It wasn’t the fanciest inn, but it was warm and the food was good. The innkeeper, Dagur, smiled at him as he approached.

“Master Alorn! It’s been some time. Where’s your father?” he asked.

“Actually, it’s just me this time, Dagur,” Alorn answered. “I need a room for the night.”

“Sure thing.” Alorn handed over a gold septim as Dagur handed him a key to a room.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what brings you to Winterhold today?” asked Dagur.

“To tell you truthfully, I’m here to try and join the college,” said Alorn.

“Really? I wouldn’t have that you the magic type! Not that I have anything against it, I assure you.”

“I know, Dagur. Although, I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else. My pa still has business with Birna at times, and I don’t want my studies to interfere with that. I know how people are here.”

The Nords had always been mistrustful of magic, but it had only increased after the Great Collapse. Winterhold had become to most hateful towards mages and magic. They blamed the college for the destruction that had befallen their home. Knowing this, Dagur shook his head in agreement.

“Oh, of course not, Master Alorn!” exclaimed Dagur. “My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you!”

 “No problem. Your room is just right there,” he said, pointing to one of the rooms next to the bar.

Alorn grabbed his key and bags, put everything into the room, and then ordered a bowl of beef stew, some bread, and a bottle of mead. Though it was still relatively early in the evening, the trip to Winterhold had exhausted Alorn, and he was ready to sleep for a long time in a warm bed. The past week had been frigid having to sleep outside. So he was grateful to be able to sleep somewhere warm for once. After he had finished eating, he went back to his room, washed up, and went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry this took so long to get out. I was having a huge stroke of writer's block. Also, I've been pretty caught up in reading another fanfiction along with work and school. Anyway, I'm really excited to finally post this chapter because this is where things really start to happen. So, I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Take care!


	10. Joining the College

Sun’s Dawn, 4E 196

Alorn didn’t wake up till late the next morning. After a week of sleeping in only a bedroll and the freezing cold, it had felt amazing to sleep in a warm bed again. He cracked his eyes open and groaned at the soft light that filtered in. He sat up in bed and fought the heaviness that threatened to pull his eyelids closed. He shook himself to wake up, then pulled on the cleanest pair of clothes he had.

Once he had cleaned himself up, he made his way into the main hall for some breakfast. Not many people stayed at the Frozen Hearth. Not many people came to Winterhold in general. Besides Alorn, there were only two other patrons who were eating; Ranmir, the town drunk, and Nelacar. Dagur and his daughter, Eirid, were straightening and cleaning up the main hall. Haran, Dagur’s wife, was standing at the bar rifling through some papers. She looked up from her writing as he approached.

“What can I do for you, Alorn?” she asked. “Anything you want to eat?”

“Yes. I would love some eggs scrambled, some bacon, some bread and butter, and some milk please,” Alorn answered.

“Absolutely! I’ll have that out to you in a few minutes.”

Alorn found a seat and looked over the room. Sadness washed over him as he remembered the last time he had been here. His father and he had come to deliver goods to Birna’s Oddments, and they had stayed at the Frozen Hearth for the night. Alorn wished he could be here again with his father, but he quickly pushed the homesickness away. He missed Soreld terribly, but he was also excited for this opportunity to study at the college, and he wanted to make his pa proud.

Haran returned with the food, and Alorn’s stomach rumbled as the smell wafted over. As he began to eat, his mind turned to the college. What were they going to say? What would he be required to do to enter? What would he do if they rejected his application? His heart began to race at the thought of the unknown. When he was preparing to leave Whiterun, he had sent a personal application, as well as Farengar’s letter of recommendation, to the college by a hawk. He hoped the letters had arrived in time. He was anxious to be on his way, so he quickly ate the rest of his meal and paid for it at the bar.

“I’m going to take off,” Alorn told Dagur. “I’ll be back later. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” Dagur chuckled. “Hope all goes well for you.”

Alorn grabbed his coat and cloak out of his room and locked the door behind him. He stepped out into the frosty air and began his walk to the College of Winterhold. For once the sun shone brightly with only a few clouds in the sky to cover it. A few birds chirped as they flew about looking for food. Alorn listened to their music, trying to put his mind at ease as he approached the school.

He walked along the main road till he came to a large bridge weaving to the college. An archway rose above the bridge, each side flanked by the college’s banners. Taking a deep breath, Alorn followed the path to the front doors of the college.

As Alorn walked along the bridge he noticed several wells of magical light. The light had a blue and purple hue, and it swirled and twisted up until it dissipated into the air. He had never seen anything like it, but he tried to ignore them as he walked on. However, his curiosity eventually overcame him, and he stopped to inspect one. He peered into the well and saw a substance that rippled and moved like a liquid, yet he felt nothing but a tingling sensation as he ran his fingers through it. He could sense large amounts of magicka held within its depths, but beyond that, he wasn’t really able to determine its purpose. Being unable to learn anything else, Alorn continued on deciding to come back and investigate more later.

He soon came to a large iron gate that barred the way into the college. Two mages stood as guards, each wearing a set of matching robes, a cloak, and a cowl to cover their faces. One of them stepped forward as Alorn advanced.

“What is your business here?” questioned a female voice. Alorn could just make out red Dunmer eyes behind the cowl.

“I’m here to enter the college,” responded Alorn, his breath billowing before him. “I sent a hawk about a week ago with my application.”

“And what is your name?” she asked.

“Alorn.”

She nodded in response and motioned for him to follow her. The other mage waved their hand over the center of the gate which made a loud clack as it unlocked. The great gates swung open silently, and the elven mage led Alorn further into the school.

His mouth dropped in amazement as he entered the college. He was shocked to feel the chill in the air melt away as he walked through the gates. It was like the spell Farengar had cast over the Great Porch to keep out the cold. His attention soon turned to the many students that bustled through a large, magnificent courtyard. At the center of the courtyard was another well of magical light, along with the statue of the college’s founder, Shalidor. The well was also flanked by two beautiful fountains, each with a dragon statue at their centers sending the water cascading into the pools below. Several ornate stone benches were placed throughout the courtyard, adding both detail and a place to sit. Though Alorn saw many students moving about, he was surprised at how relatively few there seemed to be.

The mage walked on as he continued to gawk. Alorn had to run to catch up as she led him through the crowd to a set of large doors at the back of the courtyard. As they came into the entry hall, the mage motioned for an attendant who stood waiting along the sides of the hall.

“Will you take him to the Board?” she asked. “This is Master Alorn. They should have received his application already.” The attendant nodded in response.

“Good luck,” the mage said to Alorn as she made her way back to her post.

Alorn waved goodbye and followed after the attendant. He led Alorn further into the school until they came to a grand hall. Another well of magical light was found in the center along with plenty of elaborate tables for the students.

“This is called the Hall of the Elements,” commented the attendant. “It’s generally set up as the common area for the school, but it can be arranged to accommodate the school for large ceremonies. If the Arch-Mage needs to address the entire school for something, for example, it will be done here.”

Alorn nodded as he followed. They continued through the Hall of the Elements and into another large corridor at the back. It opened up into a vestibule with a large staircase that then split and ran along the edge of the chamber, reconnecting on the second floor. The attendant led Alorn on up the stairs and through the hall until they came to another set of large doors.

“Wait here,” the attendant instructed and walked off before Alorn could respond.

After a few minutes, he reappeared and motioned for Alorn to follow. He opened the large wooden doors and gestured for him to enter, then closed them behind him. The room was large, though it wasn’t anywhere near as big as the other halls he had gone through. Several rows of seats had been set up in a semi-circle along the walls of the room facing towards the front. A dais was placed at the front of the room holding eight chairs, all of which were filled.

Alorn looked at each of the members of the Board as they looked him over in turn. A Dunmer man, presumably the Arch-Mage by the look of his robes, was the first to speak.

“So, you are Master Alorn. We have been awaiting your arrival since we received your application,” he responded. “I trust the journey was as decent as it could be, given the circumstances?”

“Yes, sir,” Alorn replied. “It’s a great honor to be here.”

“The pleasure is ours,” said the Dunmer. “I believe introductions are in order. I am Savos Aren, Arch-Mage of Winterhold. This is Mirabelle Ervine, our Master Wizard. Then we have Masters Tolfdir, Colette, Faralda, Drevis, Phinis, and Sergius. Each is a teacher of the different schools of magic within the college.

“Now,” he continued, “Would you care to tell us a little about yourself?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Alorn Windrime, and I’m from Whiterun. I’m actually a fairly new student of magic, though I have had a talent for it all my life. Farengar Secret-Fire, the court wizard of Whiterun, was my teacher for around seven months.”

“Ah, yes, Farengar,” said an older Nord man. “I remember when he was studying here. A very sharp student.”

“Yes, Master Tolfdir. That he was,” responded the Arch-Mage. “And he’s sent an outstanding letter of recommendation for you, Master Alorn. Can you tell us why you think you’d be a good addition to this school?”

“Well, sir, I’m a very quick learner, and I put all the efforts I can into my studies. Master Farengar’s teaching style was to point me in a certain direction, give me the tools I would need and then allow me to learn on my own. He would instruct me if I couldn’t figure something out, but for the most part, he left it up to me to study on my own. It gave me a great opportunity to learn how to study more efficiently.”

The Board continued to ask Alorn a few more questions, taking notes as they went.

“Well, Master Alorn, we have a short series of tests for you to complete before we let you go,” said the Arch-Mage. “We would like you to perform a simple spell from each of the schools of magic. Master Phinis will provide you with a shade if needed for you to perform your magic on.”

“Yes, sir,” Alorn responded.

A middle-aged Breton man stood from his seat and made his way down to the floor level with Alorn.

“All right, you may begin when you’re ready. Let me know when you need a shade,” Phinis instructed.

Alorn nodded in agreement. After he had finished demonstrating his abilities with spells and enchanting, Phinis took his seat again with the rest of the Board as the Arch-Mage rose.

“Thank you for your time, Master Alorn,” the Arch-Mage said. “We will discuss your application further, and we will call on you within the week. I’m assuming you’ll be at the Frozen Hearth?”

“Yes, sir, I will. I look forward to hearing from you,” Alorn responded. He gave a small bow and left the room.

Alorn made his way through the school and back to the Frozen Hearth for some food. Snow followed him inside the inn, and he rushed to close the door behind him. He shook the snow off as he removed his cloak and coat and placed them inside his room. With hunger gnawing at his stomach, Alorn found Dagur at the bar and ordered some lunch. When he arrived with the food, Dagur decided to sit at the table with Alorn.

“So, how did it go?” he asked.

“It went fine,” Alorn replied. “I didn’t feel like I had failed afterward. They told me that they’d be in contact with me in the week.”

“Good, good,” Dagur said. Alorn watched with curiosity as Dagur began to fidget and look around the room anxiously.

“Is everything all right, Dagur?” he asked.

“Umm, yeah. It’s good,” Dagur responded uneasily. After a brief pause, he continued, “I just wanted to give you a heads up. I promise I didn’t say nothin’, but you know how it is here. News travels fast.” He paused again.

“Go on,” encouraged Alorn.

“Some of the men heard that you were applying at the college, and someone also mentioned that they had seen you enter the school. Well, they weren’t too happy about it. I heard that the jarl himself might try to meet with you to talk you out of it.”

Alorn’s heart raced a bit at the thought of having to face the jarl. Jarl Korir wasn’t a particularly happy man, and Alorn didn’t really want to confront him.

“To be honest,” Dagur continued, “I’m kind of worried that some of the men might try to change your mind through more…brutal methods.”

Alorn let out a humorless chuckle. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried it that way.”

“I would just feel better if you tried to stay around the inn as much as you could.”

“Okay, Dagur. I’ll stay around here,” Alorn said with a smile.

Dagur let out a relieved breath and stood. “Glad to hear it. Enjoy your meal.”

Alorn laughed to himself, but he was also touched by the man’s concern. It was nice to know that there were still plenty of good people around. He returned to his food and enjoyed Haran’s great cooking.

Once he was done, Alorn returned to his room to relax. He went through his sword drills first, trying to utilize his minimal space as best he could. When had finished, he pulled out a piece of wood that he had been carving on and began to whittle. He had spent a lot of time practicing over the years, and he had made quite a collection for himself. He was currently working on a mammoth at the moment. He had finished the basic outline of the body and was now starting to work on the details.

Alorn spent the rest of his day carving. He finally noticed that the sun had almost disappeared when he heard a knock at his door. He opened it to find a very distraught Dagur standing there.

“What’s wrong?” asked Alorn.

Dagur looked over his shoulders at a couple of city guards who stood in the doorway. “The jarl has requested your presence,” he responded nervously.

Alorn frowned as he looked at the guards and nodded in response. He grabbed his coat and followed the guards out into the cold to the jarl’s longhouse. A servant approached when they entered and took Alorn’s coat for him. The guards led him into the main hall, and he saw Jarl Korir sitting in his throne at the back. The jarl’s steward, Malur Seloth, along with another Nord man stood by him as Alorn was brought forward.

“Thank you, Captain,” the jarl said to one of the guards and dismissed them. He then turned his attention to Alorn. “Well, Master Alorn, I hear you are wanting to apply to the college.”

“You have heard correctly, sire,” Alorn replied.

The jarl’s lips tightened to a hard line. “And what has made you want to join them?” he asked tersely.

“Well, my lord, I have a gift with magic, and I want to learn how to use it better.”

“I see. Do you recall what happened during the Great Collapse?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Then I would be amiss if I didn’t remind you that more than half of this precious city was swallowed up in the Sea of Ghosts and thousands of lives lost. And most conveniently that college still stands, right on the edge of everything that’s now gone.”

“My lord…” began the Nord man, but the jarl quickly cut him off.

Alorn clenched his jaw as he tried to hold back his frustration. “Yes, sire.”

“Then tell me again why you want to join those mage bastards after the thousands of people that they slaughtered,” the jarl growled.

“Because, my lord, I don’t think they had anything to do with that. All they want is a place where they can practice magic in peace, as do I,” answered Alorn defiantly.

Jarl Korir’s eyes hardened as fury flushed his face. “Alorn, I have always had great respect for you and your father. You have given us much help in our times of need. But this is an outrage! Those damn mages have killed my people and destroyed this city! And if you join them, then my people’s blood is on your hands as well. I would strongly recommend you reconsider your choice to apply to the college.”

“Sire, I must insist…” the man began again.

“That’s enough Kraldar! I will not hear it! I know you have a soft spot for those mages too. You’re here because your family has always been friends to mine, and I wish to honor that friendship. But you forget your place! Those people are guilty, and so is he if he joins them!”

“I’m sorry, sire, but you’re wrong! Those people are innocent. What happened here all those years ago was a horrible tragedy but blaming it on someone else isn’t going to fix it,” Alorn snapped.

Jarl Korir rose slowly, fire dancing in his eyes. “Get him out of my sight,” he hissed.

Alorn glowered back as a pair of guards moved him back to the entryway. Rather than allowing him to get his coat, Alorn was shoved roughly from the longhouse with his coat thrown out after him. The door was slammed shut as Alorn retrieved his coat and put it on. He fumed inside as he made his way back to the Frozen Hearth, but his heart dropped as he suddenly found himself surrounded by several hooded figures.

 _Not again!_ Alorn thought to himself. His heart began to race as he remembered the last time he had been surrounded like this. Luckily someone had found him last time. He didn’t know if he’d be as lucky again.

“Well, well, well,” drawled one of the figures. “What do we have here?”

“Looks like a little traitor to me,” sneered another. Suddenly an arm wrapped itself around Alorn’s throat while the other hand tugged his head back by his hair.

“Look, I just want to return to my room. I have nothing against any of you. Please just let me go,” choked Alorn.

“Not just yet. We have a little bit of an issue that needs to be dealt with. We don’t need another mage running around town causing trouble now do we, boys,” jeered his captor.

“Seems like you’re the ones cause trouble,” wheezed Alorn. A boot slammed into his stomach in response.

“Not a good time to be a smart-ass,” growled the assailant.

“I think it’s time to teach this one a lesson he’ll never forget,” said the one holding Alorn.

One of the figures pulled a dagger from his belt, and Alorn began to panic even more. He could barely breathe, and he had no way to defend himself. Then, without warning, a fire was lit inside of him. His vision sharpened, and it seemed that he could see every little detail in his surroundings despite the darkness. Rage replaced the panic he felt as he dug his fingernails into the arms of his captor. The man cried out in pain and made to release Alorn. Before he could get away, Alorn clutched both of his arms in an iron grip and threw the man over his shoulder. He hit the ground hard on his back and gasped for air.

Alorn sprang into action as the rest of the men came in at him. The man with the dagger lunged, but Alorn easily deflected the blow and pushed the man past him. He caught a glimpse of a fist out of the corner of his eye and ducked underneath it, throwing the man over his shoulder. He spun amidst his attackers, blocking blows and shoving them away. Part of him wanted to incinerate them for what they had done. The heat rose in his chest and fire began to crackle at his fingertips, but he pushed it away.

Alorn soon had incapacitated most of the men that had attacked him. He and one last man circled each other, watching and waiting, when Alorn heard a crunch in the snow behind him. He twisted smoothly out of the way as one of the men tried to plunge his dagger into Alorn’s back. Alorn snatched the man’s wrist, twisted it back, and then slammed the man’s elbow over his knee. There was a sickening crunch, and the man dropped to the ground in pain. Then Alorn kicked out to the side and connected with the other man’s stomach, dropping him with to his knees. Alorn brought his knee up and connected with the man’s face, and he fell into the snow with his accomplices.

As Alorn took a moment to breathe his vision dimmed and returned to what it was before. He suddenly felt a few sharp stings on his chest, and he looked to see that a couple of the blades had connected. There were a few other tender spots where fists or feet must have connected as well.

 _What just happened?_ he asked himself. One moment he had been worried that he was going to be butchered and passing out, and then the next all his senses had come into extreme focus allowing him to react more quickly. He was extremely grateful for it, whatever it was.

Alorn’s heart began to race as the full realization of what had happened washed over him. It wasn’t going to look good when a guard came by and saw all of these men lying in the snow, battered and bruised. He began dragging each of them into an alleyway and sitting them up against the buildings, attempting to make it look a little more normal despite the frigid weather. When he had finished, he rushed back to the inn and quickly made his way to Dagur. The man’s face went white when he saw Alorn approaching.

“Alorn! What happened to you?” he asked in alarm. Alorn looked back down at himself and realized in the light that he had bled a lot more than he had first noticed.

“I was attacked! After I met with the jarl, a group of men surrounded me. I managed to fight them off though,” Alorn answered. He was still fuming about everything that had happened. He also worried about what would happen after tonight.

“You’d better get some rest then,” suggested Dagur. “And make sure to keep your door locked, just in case.”

Alorn nodded wearily as he made his way back to his room. He tried to push his anxiety away as he got ready for bed. He wasn’t really worried about being attacked again. Those men wouldn’t be ready to pick a fight with him again for a while now. He was worried about how it would look when the town’s guards found them. He couldn’t afford to have problems with the law right now as he prepared to enter the college. Not to mention that he hadn’t done anything other than defend himself. Once he had cleaned himself off and saw to his wounds, he went to sleep for the night.

The next morning, Alorn fought to keep his eyes open as he ate breakfast. He had spent the whole night tossing and turning as he worried about what would happen to him. His stomach was so sick with worry that he could hardly eat his food. He had finally just about finished his meal when the inn door burst open as three guards and a few of the men from last night entered the building.

“There!” one of the guards shouted as he pointed at Alorn. The other two marched over and grabbed each of his arms, dragging him from his seat.

“You are under arrest for assaulting these men. You will be brought before the jarl to be tried for your crimes against the hold,” another guard growled as he cuffed Alorn’s hands behind his back.

Alorn was quickly patted down to make sure that he carried no weapons and then roughly escorted back to the jarl’s longhouse. Jarl Korir’s entire court had been summoned, and several of the townspeople had gathered as well. Dagur and Haran filed in behind Alorn and joined the rest of the crowd.

Once he had been brought before the jarl, Alorn was shoved roughly to his knees. He straightened himself and waited as the jarl motioned for the crowd to quiet. Korir’s stare was full of anger, but Alorn was also surprised to see a bit of sadness and disappointment.

“Do you know why you’ve been brought here, Alorn?” the jarl asked. Alorn remained silent.

“You have been brought here because these men were found last night either unconscious or brutally hurt in the snow freezing to death. Had it not been for a couple of my guards on patrol who found them, they very well may have died. When upon questioning them on what happened, they all reported that you had attacked them by surprise and without cause, leaving them to die. What’s more is that they all reported that you had used your so-called ‘gift’ for magic to incapacitate them. What do you say to these charges?”

“My lord, I am innocent,” said Alorn. “It is true that I had fought these men last night, but I was not the offender. After our meeting last night, I was on my way back to the Frozen Hearth when I was surrounded by them. They only attacked me because I am a mage. But let me make it clear that I did not use any magic against them.”

“There are seven men here, Alorn. You can’t expect me to believe that you beat them all singlehandedly.”

“Truthfully, sire, _I_ don’t know how I managed to fight them all off.” He didn’t bother to mention the change to his senses. He didn’t know what had happened and wouldn’t have been able to explain it.

“That is a lie, my lord!” one of the men shouted. Alorn recognized his voice as the man that had grabbed him from behind. “We had been making our way back to our homes after some drinking at the Frozen Hearth when this boy attacked us for no cause. I wouldn’t have been worried, but I noticed that some of us began to freeze up and couldn’t fight back. It was like a spell had been cast on us to stop us from defending ourselves.”

“Is Dagur here?” Jarl Korir asked. There was some shuffling in the crowd as Dagur was pulled forward.

“Is their claim true? Were they at the Frozen Hearth last night?” the jarl asked.

Dagur face filled with despair. “Yes, sire. They were. They had been gone for maybe ten minutes when Alorn returned. But Alorn had told me the same thing as he told you, that he had been attacked!”

“I think Alorn’s claim is valid, my lord. Why would he have attacked these men?” asked the jarl’s Thane, Thadgeir. “We have known Alorn for some time now, and he has always been a very reserved young man.”

Before Alorn could speak up to defend himself, the jarl’s wife, Thaena, interjected. “He didn’t need a reason to attack! That’s what magic does to a person. It twists their minds and causes them to be hungry for power over others.” She shot an icy glare at Alorn as she finished.

“Sire, that’s not true! I’ve never wanted that. I have only ever wanted to help others!” Alorn argued.

The jarl was quiet for a moment as he considered all the evidence. Then his eyes filled with sorrow yet resolution. “I’m sorry, Alorn, but the evidence is stacked against you. These men have all claimed that you attacked them without cause, and there was no one to witness this said attack. I sentence you to six months in prison. He may retrieve his coat, then take him to the Chill.”

Alorn was in shock as he was swept away from the court, taken to get his coat, and then carted off to Winterhold’s prison north of the city. Two guards sat around a fire outside of the entrance of a cave, trying to keep warm. They stood as the wagon pulled up and escorted Alorn inside. It wasn’t a particularly large cavern, and it held about ten cells. Only a couple of the cells were occupied, and those that were in them didn’t react much to the newcomer.

The guards threw Alorn into an unoccupied cell and removed his cuffs. Alorn rubbed the skin where they had been and surveyed the cavern a little more closely. A few torches lined the walls for light which reflected off the icy surface of the walls. He noticed that a couple of the other prisoners were mumbling quietly to themselves, and they all looked scrawny and underfed. He wondered how many of them could have been mages that had been falsely accused such as he, or if they all were simply just criminals. How long had they been there to become so thin and gaunt, and what had they done to deserve such a sentence? He didn’t know if he really wanted an answer. All he knew is that he couldn’t afford to be in there for six months. He needed to find a way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hoped you enjoyed the chapter. I really wanted to use what happened with Alorn to show just how much the people of Skyrim distrust mages. It'll play a bigger role later on as well. Also, this is another instance where I tried to make the places in Skyrim a little bigger. It's always bothered me that the College of Winterhold is so small, so I made it bigger. I hope you guys enjoyed it! Let me know what you think. Stay awesome!


	11. The Chill

First Seed, 4E 196

_Wake up._

_Stretch out the kinks._

_Eat the stale food they bring._

_Exercise in some way. Need to stay warm._

_Attempt to practice magic. Hide it when guards enter._

_Try to convince guards to let me write a letter to someone. They reject me again…as usual. Beaten a couple of times for asking day after day. Probably won’t stop me from asking again tomorrow._

_Try to talk to the man in the cell next to mine. Still unresponsive._

_Lunch._

_Practice more magic. Exercise again to stay warm._

_Try not to go crazy._

_Dinner._

_Sleep._

_Repeat._

                                                                                                              

* * *

 

It had been three weeks since Alorn had been sent to the Chill, and each day he was reminded of how it had gotten its name. His body shook as he attempted to move through his sword drills. He hadn’t gotten far before he had to sit and rest, growling in frustration at his weakness. He had to keep moving as much as possible to keep himself warm. He did have his coat and a blanket, but they were only able to keep out so much of the cold. Alorn had spent many sleepless nights trying to keep warm without success. There were times when he would conjure a flame to warm up, but even then, he had to be wary so as not to get caught. He had been caught practicing magic once, and it hadn’t gone very well. Alorn wanted to avoid being beaten as much as possible.

He took a deep breath and struggled to continue his drills. Over the weeks, he could feel his body getting weaker and weaker. Although he was fed every day, it wasn’t enough for him to keep up his strength. Add that to a lack of sleep from the cold, and it depleted his energy. He was only able to continue the drills for a couple more minutes before he had to sit back down again. He growled in frustration as he put his head in his hands. How did the others stand it? They hardly did anything day in and day out. Most of them sat in the back corners of their cells and only moved when food was brought for them. There were plenty of times that Alorn had thought one of them had died because they hadn’t moved for hours.

_I can’t do this anymore! I’m going to go mad!_

He began to be overwhelmed by the solitude he felt in his confinement. He knew he shouldn’t complain. He had only been in there for three weeks. It hadn’t even been a whole month yet! But he couldn’t stand the thought of bearing another eleven months in this place. A few tears began to fall down his face, but he quickly wiped them away.

As he continued to rest, Alorn rubbed the scruff that had sprouted up over the past few weeks. He usually preferred to keep clean shaven, but it really wasn’t possible to do here. He stood again to continue his drills when a gravelly voiced that sounded like it hadn’t been used in years piped up next to him.

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” the voice said. Alorn turned in surprise to look at the man in the cell next to his. He was cradling his legs in the corner next to Alorn, same as usual, and it made Alorn doubt that the man had even spoken.

“What was that?” asked Alorn, just to be sure.

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” came the reply. “You keep going like that and you won’t be able to move even if you wanted to.”

Alorn was shocked to hear the man’s voice. He had tried day after day to spark a conversation with this man and nothing had ever gotten to him. The constant silence had put him on the edge of his sanity.

“But I need to stay warm,” Alorn responded.

“Trust me, kid, the blanket may not be the warmest, but it’s good enough to keep you alive. You don’t get enough food to keep putting your body through that kind of strain. You’ll survive longer if you just conserve that energy. Besides, you’ll eventually get used to the cold.”

A million questions began racing through Alorn’s head. Who was this man? Where was he from? How long had he been here? What had he done to be put here? He hadn’t talked to anyone in so long, and he was dying to hold some type of conversation. However, he held himself back so as not to overwhelm the man.

“Thanks for the advice,” he said. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Alorn continued. “My name’s Alorn by the way.” He waited for a response, but none came. “What’s yours?” He waited for another couple of minutes before it became apparent that the man wasn’t going to talk any further. He began scooting back to the other side of his cell to grab his blanket and bundle up.

“Odvan,” replied the man. Alorn’s head whipped back in surprise at the response. The man had finally looked up from the ground and in Alorn’s direction. “My name is Odvan.”

Now that Alorn had finally seen his face, he realized that Odvan was a Breton. He had dull brown eyes that had sunken into his skull. His beard and hair were long and thin, full of knots and grime. Alorn instantly felt sorrow wash over him to see the state of the man, and suddenly his own self-pitying thoughts were swept away. How could he have been so selfish? He had been here only three weeks, and who knew how long this man had been here!

Alorn gave a faint smile in response. “It’s nice to meet you, Odvan.” The man grunted as he moved back to his usual position.

“So, are you originally from Skyrim?” Alorn asked. “Or did you come here from High Rock?” Odvan remained silent. “What are your hobbies?” Still silence. “I like to carve. I used to work for my pa, and we would travel all over Skyrim. When I had some time to myself, I liked to practice carving different things. I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the years.” Alorn waited, but still, there was no response. “Have you been anywhere else other than Winterhold?”

“Do you ever stop talking?” snapped Odvan.

“Well, to be honest, I feel like I’ve done a pretty damn well job over these past few weeks,” muttered Alorn.

“Not really. You’ve tried to talk to me almost every day you’ve been here.”

“Oh yeah,” Alorn chuckled to himself. “Can you blame me though?” Odvan’s only response was another grunt.

“Okay, you can’t just grunt at me again and be done.” More silence. Alorn sighed, “Will you just answer one of my questions? I promise I’ll leave you alone after that.”

“Drawing,” answered Odvan after a while.

“What?” asked Alorn.

“You asked me about my hobbies. I like to draw. Or I used to.”

“That’s great! What did you like to draw?”

“You said one question.”

Alorn’s face went blank. “Fine.”

Odvan let out a small chuckle that turned into a cough, and that was the last Alorn heard from him that day.

 

* * *

 

Another week had passed, and Alorn had started to get to know Odvan better. The first few days he had to pester the man until he finally opened up, but as the week progressed, he started to talk more willingly. Alorn was pretty sure that deep down Odvan wanted to have the conversations, but he had just become so used to shutting out the world that it was difficult for him to break the habit.

Alorn was extremely grateful for the discussions. He had a feeling that the others in the cavern didn’t appreciate it as much, but he didn’t care. It helped to keep him sane when there wasn’t anything else to do, and Odvan was a very interesting man to talk to. Throughout the week, Alorn had come to learn a lot about him.

Odvan had moved to Skyrim from High Rock with his family when he was around 30 years of age. His family had never been particularly wealthy, and it hadn’t changed after he had gotten married. They decided to move to Markarth because Odvan had heard that the mining industry in the Reach was very lucrative. When he still wasn’t able to make enough money for his family, they ended up moving to the Rift for its abundance of game. Odvan had been a hunter back in High Rock, and he figured he could continue the practice.

While Odvan was at the marketplace in Riften, a man struck up a conversation with him that eventually led to the man inviting Odvan to make some extra money through some questionable means. He rejected the offer at first, but when his business continued to do poorly, he decided to accept. And that was how Odvan had become a part of the Thieves Guild. He worked with them for a time, using his knowledge of illusion magic to help him with the job. Once he had acquired enough money to support his family, he left the guild and traveled to Winterhold to join the college. However, as he waited for approval on his application, he was somehow framed for stealing from the jarl’s treasury.

Alorn was both intrigued and saddened by the man’s story. Upon hearing it, Alorn shared his own experience of how he had been framed for attacking some of the men in the town. Alorn was shocked to hear that a few others in the Chill had admitted to Odvan that they too had been framed for something they hadn’t done upon trying to enter the college.

 _So it wasn’t just me?_ thought Alorn. This had been going on for some time now. The very idea caused anger to boil up inside of him. What was worse, he wasn’t even sure there was anything he could do when he was released unless he somehow acquired evidence to back the claims he had heard.

Despite the sadness of everything, he had loved getting to know Odvan better. However, not wanting to bring up bad memories, Alorn did everything he could to keep the conversation light. He asked a lot of questions about Odvan’s drawings, as well as questions about his family and work before he joined the Thieves Guild. Odvan had also taken an interest in Alorn’s carvings, along with his desire to learn magic. Their conversations had done a lot to lift each other’s spirits. Alorn had decided that as long as this continued, he could endure his one-year sentence.

One morning, Alorn awoke to the sound of intense coughing in the cell next to him. Odvan’s heavy, ragged cough shook his entire body, and he had to constantly gasp for air. Alorn bolted upright in alarm. The last time he had heard a cough like that was when one of Soreld’s men had caught the rattles, and it had become fatal. The man eventually had passed away before they could treat him. Alorn crawled over as quickly as he could to assess the situation.

“Are you okay, Odvan?” he asked.

“I’m alright,” wheezed Odvan. “Just a cough.” It eventually died down, and his breathing returned to normal as he laid back once again.

Alorn’s fear calmed a little, though he wasn’t entirely convinced that Odvan was alright. Eventually, a guard came in with the same bad soup and stale bread for breakfast, along with a couple ladle-fulls of water.

Alorn dipped his piece of bread into the soup to make it slightly more bearable. As he ate, he daydreamed of home. He thought of the last few trips he had gone on with his father, along with lessons with Farengar. He wondered if either of them knew of the plight he was in. He hadn’t been allowed to communicate with them himself, but maybe word had spread their way. Maybe they could help get him out! But even as he thought it, his hopes were dashed. If Odvan had been in the Chill this long, then it wasn’t very likely that Alorn was going to get out any sooner.

“So, what’s it like getting to travel all over Skyrim?” asked Odvan. “I’ve only really stayed on the east side of the country.”

“It’s really amazing,” responded Alorn. “It’s interesting to see just how much the landscape changes between the different holds.”

“I can imagine. Which is your favorite? Of the holds I mean.”

Alorn thought about it for a minute. “Hard to say. I think the Rift is the most beautiful. Especially during the spring and fall.”

“Aye, that it is. I have quite a few fond memories of that place during my time hunting, along with spending time with my sweet Candice.”

Alorn was interrupted from his response as Odvan went into another coughing fit. Each hack sounded worse than the last until he finished and spit out some bloody phlegm. Alorn’s brows scrunched together with concern at the sight of it. The man was prone to have the occasional coughing fit ever since Alorn had been brought to the Chill, but they had become more frequent just over the last week.

“It’s getting worse,” Alorn commented.

“It’s happened before,” said Odvan nonchalantly. “I’ll have horrible coughing fits for a time, then they pass.”

“But have you ever had blood come up before?”

Odvan was silent for a time. “No,” eventually came the reply.

“Odvan, you need to inform the guards. There are simple tonics and potions out there that would give nearly instant relief. It would be easy for them to get it.”

“They’d never do that. Why would they spend good coin on a prisoner? Look, to them, you either live long enough to endure your sentence and get released, or you don’t. Telling them won’t make a difference.”

“But…”

“Just drop it, Alorn. It’s not worth the fight.”

Alorn scowled, but he didn’t argue any further. He finished his meal in silence, worrying about what would happen to his newfound friend.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Alorn began his day with the usual stretching to loosen his stiff muscles. He was used to sleeping on the ground from traveling so much but it worse with only a straw mattress and a thin blanket that hardly provided any warmth. When he had finished stretching, he sat against the back wall and waited for the guards to come with breakfast and relight the prison’s torches. It was the only way that Alorn really knew when it was night and day. In an attempt to help keep the snow and wind out of the cavern, a makeshift door had been placed at the entrance of the prison. The only problem was that it made it nearly impossible to tell when the sun was out. The crack at the bottom of the door let in some sunlight, but beyond that, the only light that Alorn ever really saw was the torchlight that was provided during the day.

Soon enough, a couple of guards entered the cavern letting in a gust of bitter cold wind and sunlight. Alorn had to shade his eyes as they adjusted to the sudden burst of light. He looked over at Odvan after a few of the torches had been lit to see if he was awake yet. The slumped figure revealed that the man was obviously still asleep. It was good that he was getting more rest. Alorn was very concerned about him. He was almost certain that he had the rattles. That wouldn’t have been so bad if he wasn’t also certain that it had progressed to the deadlier stages. Hopefully it was just the cough that Odvan was convinced it was.

As Alorn moved to look away, his eyes were drawn to some substance next to Odvan. It was a red, chunky mass, and it looked to have smeared on a part of Odvan’s blanket. Suddenly, Alorn’s heart began to race as he noticed more red spots on the blanket leading up to Odvan’s head. Blood.

 _He must have had another coughing fit last night!_ Alorn began to call out quietly to his friend to try and wake him, but the man didn’t budge. In fact, he seemed eerily still. Alorn began to panic even more.

“Odvan! Odvan! You need to wake up!” he called.

One of the guards heard his calls, and he made his way over to inspect. “What’s goin’ on over here?”

“Please,” Alorn pleaded. “You need to help him. I think he’s sick.”

The guard looked in at Odvan then opened the gate. “He ain’t sick. He’s dead.” As he reached in to grab the man, Odvan’s head rolled to the side to reveal eyes that were still open and glazed over. A thin line of blood trickled from the man’s mouth and down his chin. His skin had already turned a grayish blue. It was a shell of the man Alorn had come to know during his time there.

“No, no,” Alorn began quietly. “He was doing better yesterday.” The guards began to pull the body out of the cell. “No, wait! Let me try and help. Please!”

“He’s dead! There’s no helping him now,” replied the other guard.

“No, please! Wait! You can’t take him away!” Alorn sobbed as he stood and grabbed the bars of his cell. “I didn’t get to say goodbye!” The guards ignored him and left with the body.

Alorn sunk back down to the floor. For a moment he was silent, shocked by the sudden emptiness of the cell next to his.

After a moment of silence, he said, “Oh Kyne, Kiss at the End, Mother of Men, meet his soul under the skies of Sovngarde. Lead him to rest in the Hall of Valor.”

Then he began to shake as the tears started streaming down his face.

 

* * *

 

Alorn hardly flinched as the torches were relit. He ate a bit of the food that was given to him but set most of it aside, his hunger having left him. It had been about a week since he had found Odvan dead. Since then, he couldn’t bring himself to do much of anything, let alone eat. He hadn’t been there. He didn’t have the chance to do anything to help. Odvan had died alone, just as he had been all those long years spent in prison. No one had been there to ease his passing. He had been stripped from his family, from his humanity, and he left this world with no one to stand by him. That was what haunted Alorn. No more tears fell. He had shed all that he could. Now he was just empty, hollow inside.

Other thoughts and emotions raced through his head as the day progressed. Anger at the men who were responsible for sending Odvan to this place. Sadness for the family he had forever left behind. Guilt for having not been there in their place as he passed away. All Alorn could do was hope that his soul rested peacefully in Sovngarde. When he was released, he would write to Odvan’s family in Riften. They deserved to know what happened.

Alorn’s thoughts were interrupted as the guards reentered the cavern. His brows furrowed together in confusion. Lunch had already been served, and it couldn’t possibly have been time for dinner yet.

 _What’s happening?_ he asked himself frantically. His heart pounded in his chest as one of the guards approached and opened his cell.

“Come with me,” she commanded. She began walking away as Alorn timidly stepped out.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he pulled up next to the guard at the doorway.

“You’re being released.”

For a moment, Alorn’s mind was blank. Then the information came crashing down on him. He was getting out of there. He was getting out! He followed closely behind the guard as she led him to the wagon that had been prepared to take him back to Winterhold.

A mixture of joy and guilt filled his heart as they began their journey back to the city. He couldn’t help but feel grateful for the unexpected release. He knew that his sentence wasn’t the worst he could have received. He could have been in there for who knew how many years. But to be released early from an already short sentence was a great blessing.

However, guilt also washed over him as the wagon made its way roughly to Winterhold. Thoughts of Odvan filled his mind. Why couldn’t he have been released early? He had a family who loved and needed him. The two emotions battled inside him all the way back to Winterhold and into the jarl’s longhouse. When he saw the jarl sitting on his throne, resolution filled Alorn’s heart. He may not have been able to save Odvan, but there were others he could save.

Suddenly, Alorn noticed a rustle in the crowd of people that had gathered as someone pushed their way to the front. To his surprise, Soreld emerged from the parted crowd, fear turning to relief and concern as he saw his son. Despite the attempts of the guards to hold him back, Soreld pushed his way through till he was able to throw his arms around Alorn. Alorn felt him tremble from the tears that he couldn’t see. Being bound and unable to return the embrace, Alorn pressed his face into the crook of his father’s neck, letting a few of his own tears fall as well.

Soreld pulled away and grasped Alorn’s shoulders. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m alright. They didn’t really do much,” Alorn assured. Soreld nodded fervently as he was ushered back into the crowd and Alorn was brought before the jarl. He then noticed that the seven men that had attacked and framed Alorn had been bound and brought before the jarl, as well as two others that Alorn didn’t recognize.

Korir then stood and motioned for the people to quiet.

“People of Winterhold, new information has been brought to me and my court concerning the case of Alorn Windrime that I would like to present to you. Dagur Kjansen, come forward. And bring forward the letters.”

Dagur was brought forward to stand next to Alorn. “This man, through his own efforts, found letters that were written between these men that had reported Master Alorn’s assault. Would you care to explain what you found, Dagur?”

“Yes, sire. I would,” Dagur responded. “I personally was not convinced of the guilt of Master Alorn, so I took it into my own hands to redeem his name. During my investigation, I found the said letters that confirmed that these men had planned to attack Alorn when he was alone. It had been coordinated amongst themselves, along with two of the guards who were supposed to be on duty the night that they attacked.”

The letters were then read to all who were present to verify their authenticity. When they had been read, the jarl then focused his gaze on the men that were bound next to Alorn.

“You have been charged with assault and falsification of evidence against Alorn Windrime. Do any of you have anything to say?”

“I don’t regret it for a minute,” spat one of the men. “He threw his lot in with those devils, and he deserved what he got. And the fact that you’re letting him go shows me what kind of coward you are, Korir! You might as well have joined them too.”

Korir’s face lit with rage, and his voice was icy and deadly. “If you dare compare me with one of them ever again, you’ll only wish that I had had you executed. I may detest the mages, but I will not try an innocent man for a crime he didn’t commit, no matter his inclinations. You have been found guilty of your crimes, and I sentence all of you to prison. Take them away!”

Once the men had all been dragged out, the jarl motioned for Alorn’s restraints to be removed. He then rose from his throne and approached Alorn, holding out his hand. Alorn took it and nodded his thanks.

“I wanted to personally apologize for your wrongful sentence, Alorn,” Jarl Korir said. “I still cannot say that I agree with your decision, nor do I think I ever will. But I will never hold that against another unless it is directly involved in their crimes. And again, I apologize for the mistake.”

“I understand, my lord,” replied Alorn. “However, there is one thing I wished to discuss with you.”

 

* * *

 

Alorn grinned to himself as he watched the men he had spent months with released from their bonds. His discussions with Odvan had revealed all the prisoners who had been framed when they tried to join the college. After some explanations and more investigating, Alorn was able to show Jarl Korir those who were innocent and arranged for their freedom. Tears glistened in his eyes as he watched families become reunited once more. Others were overcome by tears of joy as their once bleak futures were now refilled with hope. Alorn’s own heart swelled with joy at the sight.

“You did well, son,” said Soreld as he stepped up next to Alorn. “You gave a lot of people hope.”

“I couldn’t stand by and watch, pa. I’ve seen firsthand the injustices that they’ve been through. I couldn’t turn a blind eye as they continued through that hell while I was released.”

Soreld gripped his son’s shoulder, admiration gleaming in his eyes. “I’m proud of you, Alorn.”

“Thanks, pa,” Alorn replied with a smile.

As Alorn continued to watch the proceeding in the jarl’s longhouse, one of the men that had been released saw him and quickly made his way over. Alorn saw as he got closer that tears filled the man’s eyes.

“They said you were the one that got us out,” the man said.

“No, not really,” Alorn replied feeling embarrassed by the attention.

“But you told the jarl about us, did you not?”

“Yes, I told the jarl.”

The tears that had been shimmering in the man’s eyes began to pour over as he embraced Alorn. At first, Alorn didn’t know how to respond, but he soon returned the embrace as the man wept.

“Thank you, sir. You will forever have my gratitude.”

Alorn’s own tears began to fall as he held the man. “I was happy to help.”

The man released Alorn with a smile and returned to his waiting family. It was then that Alorn noticed that another person had approached him; an attendant from the college. He gave a small bow as he stopped in front of Alorn.

“Master Alorn, I apologize for the intrusion, but I have a message from the Arch-Mage,” the attendant informed. “He requests your presence once again when you feel fully rested. He is well aware of your predicament and does not want to rush you. Just come when you are ready.”

“I can come now,” answered Alorn.

“Oh, no sir. As I said, there’s no rush.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. I am interested to hear what the Arch-Mage has to say.”

“As you wish.”

Alorn told his father he’d be back and stepped outside. He had missed the fresh clean smell of the air after being stuck in a cave for so long. He figured it was even better to all those who had just been released.

After a brisk walk through the rest of the city and the college, Alorn found himself before the Arch-Mage and school instructors once again.

“Master Alorn. It is a pleasure to see you again. We are pleased that you have been released from your former circumstances,” said the Arch-Mage.

“I agree, sir. I am grateful to speak with you once again,” replied Alorn.

“I must say that I am surprised that you came so quickly to speak with us. I did not wish to cause you an inconvenience or interrupt your recovery.”

“Not at all, sir. I’ll have plenty of time to recover later.”

“Very well. We would first like to start by thanking you for your courage. We’ve heard all about the events of the past month, and we admire your decision to defend your choice to be a mage. Others may not have chosen to do so if they had been in your shoes. We thank you for your courage and determination.

“We would also like to inform you that you have been accepted as a student here at the College of Winterhold if that is what you still desire.”

“It is, Arch-Mage,” said Alorn as he tried to suppress a smile. “I would be honored to study here.”

“Excellent! We look forward to having you with us. We will send information to you at the Frozen Hearth about when you can expect to begin and how everything will work. Thank you again for meeting with us today, Master Alorn.”

“It was my pleasure, sir.”

Alorn’s steps were lighter than they had been for some time as he made his way back to the Frozen Hearth. He had finally made it to the college! He was ready for this new opportunity, ready to learn how to use his gifts to help others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda made myself tear up writing this. Not gonna lie. Anyway, I hope all of you are doing well! And I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Stay awesome!


	12. Tests of Courage

Rain’s Hand, 4E 196

Fenrarne grunted as he blocked the attack that was aimed at his head. He stepped into the attack and threw his weight against his enemy, causing the man to stumble back. Taking hold of the opportunity, Fenrarne placed a well-aimed kick at the man’s chest knocking him onto his back.

He stopped the blade of his axe just inches away from the man’s throat, and exclaimed, “You’re dead!”

“Very good, Fenrarne,” congratulated Athis. “You’ve excelled quickly in your training.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Fenrarne bowed slightly and made his way back to the archery range. With their training ending in two days, all of the new recruits were being tested on their skills in battle, both individually and as a group. Fenrarne had just finished his individual melee combat test, and he wanted to be sure that he was ready for archery as well. He knew he was a fairly good shot, but he also knew that Aela was a very harsh instructor. He didn’t want to give her an excuse to overly criticize him on his performance.

He retrieved his bow and found an open archery target and practiced until all the new guard units within the training arena were called to assemble. He quickly returned his bow back to the weapons rack and fell into formation with the rest of his squad and a few others. When they had all assembled, Vilkas stepped forward to address them.

“Alright recruits, your training is almost complete. Each of you has finished your individual combat tests, and only a few of you still have to complete your archery challenge. Your final test, however, will test you as a group. Tomorrow, each of you will be grouped with other squadrons to test your abilities to defend the city. It is imperative that you use the skills and tactics you have been taught during your training in this test. Whether you do or do not will determine if you stay with the guard. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir!” the recruits cried in unison.

“Very good. Those squadrons who have finished their individual tests may return to their duties. The rest of you, continue to practice until called upon to perform.”

 

* * *

 

At the end of the day, Fenrarne found himself seated next to Gjalund at the Bannered Mare for a drink. Despite their drastic age difference, the two of them had become fast friends. Gjalund had also decided to make Fenrarne his second-in-command when he had been appointed as the squad leader. They each drank from their mugs silently, listening to the chatter that filled the inn.

“How’s everything at home?” asked Gjalund, breaking the silence.

“It’s going well. Pa’s still keeping the business going. Everyone’s doin’ fine,” Fenrarne replied.

“That’s good. How’s Alorn?”

“He’s doing better. Remember how Farengar told me that he had been thrown into prison up there in Winterhold for something he didn’t do? Well, Alorn just wrote me a while back and told me he had been released. I guess someone up there helped him out and found some evidence to prove him innocent.”

“Good! I’m glad to hear it.”

“Me too. It made me so angry to hear he’d been framed. He’s too good of a man to ever break the law. He just couldn’t do it. Anyway, I’m glad he’s out.”

Another moment of silence stretched on before Gjalund spoke up again. “How do you feel about tomorrow’s test?”

“I think it’ll be good. We’re ready for it,” responded Fenrarne excitedly.

“I agree. I do need your help with something, though.”

“What is it?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“What do you mean? Come on, just tell me,” exclaimed Fenrarne.

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

“Gjalund!”

Gjalund chuckled to himself. “Okay, okay. I just need you to hold back tomorrow.” Fenrarne made to interject, but Gjalund cut him off. “Now, before you say anything, let me explain. I’m not asking you not to participate tomorrow. I would never ask that. I need you in the fight. However, you do have a tendency to ignore orders and do your own thing when we train as a squad. I’ve mostly let it go in the past, but I need you to hang back and follow orders tomorrow. For all our sakes. Can you do that for me?”

“Absolutely! Of course,” said Fenrarne. Then with a mischievous glint in his eye, he said, “I can’t believe that’s what you were worried about.”

“Okay, don’t you dare start that,” laughed Gjalund. “You know just as well as I do that our squad got beat last time because you broke formation. Once you broke, everyone else followed suit.”

“I know, I know. I get a little carried away at times.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t do it tomorrow,” Gjalund said with a chuckle.

“I won’t. I promise,” answered Fenrarne sincerely.

Gjalund gave him a smile as they both finished off their drinks. “Well, ready to return to the barracks?” he asked.

“Guess so,” said Fenrarne.

They made their way out into the chilly, early spring night and back to the barracks. Most of the men from their squad were still up gambling with each other and talking, though Bolund had already laid down for the night.

 _That’s what I want to do,_ said Fenrarne as he walked past his companion. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep much tonight. None of them were. Tomorrow as a big day for them. After tomorrow, they would know whether or not they could move on from their training.

Trying to push those thoughts from his mind, Fenrarne made his way to his bed, removed his armor and washed up for the night. He then found a seat amongst the others and watched Alethius, Ulran, Kuvar, and Ontus play a few more rounds of their game.

“How do you guys feel about tomorrow?” asked Alethius as he finished his turn.

“Are you kidding me? It’s going to be easy,” asserted Ulran. “We work great as a team.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just going to be us, remember. What if one of the other squads isn’t as prepared as we are?” asked Heidmir.

“Doesn’t matter,” assured Gjalund. “What matters is that we do our best and that we help the other squads as well. We’re prepared. Tomorrow, we fight hard and work together. Understood?”

There were nods and murmurs in response, some enthusiastic, others concerned. “What was that?”

“Yes, sir!” responded the men together.

“Good! Now, who’s ready to lose their money.”

 

* * *

 

The next day proceeded as usual. Fenrarne was paired with Stenvar for the day as they patrolled their section of the city. Fenrarne enjoyed being a part of the city guard, but most days were rather boring as far as patrols went. There were times that they had to break apart a brawl or catch a thief. But most often, things were quiet. Fenrarne guessed he should be a little more grateful for that. And in a way, he was. It could just be tedious at times. By the end of the day, the only notable thing Fenrarne had done was help an older woman carry some of the goods she had bought into her home. Needless to say, he was anxious to begin the test.

The end of the day soon came, and Fenrarne marched with his squadron to the front gates of the city, accompanied by two other squadrons. Vilkas and the other trainers, Master Farengar and Captain Wulf were already waiting for them when they arrived. They were then led to the opening gate of the pass just outside the city walls. The sun had nearly set by the time they had all gathered together.

“Tonight is your last test before you complete your training, recruits,” stated Vilkas. “You will be posted here at the opening gate for the night. Your job is to be prepared when an attack on the city comes. You will not know when the attack is going to come either. You must be ready!

“Master Farengar is here to provide shades for the battle. This way you will be able to train with real weapons without putting others at risk. Captain Wulf will be the commanding officer over your three squadrons. He will give general orders during the fight, but the rest will be up to you to work together as a team. We will also be observing your progress from a distance. Good luck, recruits.”

As the others left, Captain Wulf stepped forward to give his instructions.

“Alright recruits, you have your orders. Adonato, I want you and your men stationed at the gate. Gjalund, your men will be at the first archery tower. Virgerd, your men will be at the second. To your stations!”

Fenrarne followed the rest of his squad to the first archery tower, set about one hundred yards back from the gate.

“Captain Wulf always gives Adonato’s squad the good positions,” he grumbled to himself.

“You’re just saying that because you wanted to be in that spot,” chuckled Gjalund, overhearing Fenrarne’s comment.

“So?” Fenrarne snapped back. Gjalund’s only response was another laugh.

The men soon made their way up to the tower and were positioned on the wall. Fenrarne was assigned to patrol the south section of the wall, between the gate and the first tower, along with Ontus. They made their rounds over the space of an hour watching the moonlit terrain for any sign of movement. Fenrarne was just about to complain to Gjalund about trading rounds with someone when a shout emanated from the gate.

“Who goes there?” came the shout. Fenrarne watched as the men stationed at the gate drew their bows and nocked an arrow. No reply came except the whistle of enemy arrows. A couple hit some of the men at the gate, knocking them over. Fenrarne was surprised to see that they didn’t get back up.

 _Isn’t this supposed to be a training test?_ he asked himself in confusion. The rest of Adonato’s men began firing in return at the incoming enemy. Fenrarne turned quickly as he heard Gjalund’s voice rising above the din.

“I want Heidmir, Bolund, Fenrarne, and Kuvar to stay here at the tower. Keep watch and make sure no one tries to scale the wall. The rest of you, come with me to help defend the gate!” Fenrarne tried to protest, but Gjalund and the others had already rushed off. He sighed with frustration but continued to carry out his orders.

After a while, Fenrarne began to be very anxious to join the battle and help his brothers when he noticed movement near the base of the wall. Several armored figures had made their way around and were beginning to prop large siege ladders.

“Enemies on the southwest wall!” shouted Fenrarne in alarm. _Finally!_ he added to himself. He and the other three with him converged on the ladders.

“Kuvar, Bolund, go back to the tower and bring the oil. We’ll want to give them a nasty surprise,” Fenrarne commanded. They rushed off as he and Heidmir began releasing their arrows into the enemies below. They were soon joined by a group of Virgerd’s men to help stave off the assault.

“Do you have oil stashed in your tower?” asked Fenrarne. “We could use it right now if you do.”

“We do, sir,” answered one of the men. He and another man then left to retrieve it.

By the time each party had returned with their own vat of boiling oil, many of the men below and begun scaling their ladders. It made the use of the oil very effective as they poured it over their heads. Several screams were silenced as bodies began crunching against the rocky ground below. A few of the men then retrieved spears and pushed the ladders away from the wall. They continued to fire their arrows below until their enemies retreated. As they watched the enemy fall back, Captain Wulf’s voice sounded over the noise of the battle.

“I need men at the gate! Leave two men at each tower and the rest come support here. Bring oil with you!”

Fenrarne turned to the remaining men in his squad. “Heidmir and Bolund stay here. Kuvar, you’re with me.” With his blood boiling and the adrenaline rushing, Fenrarne raced to the gate to help ward off the attack. However, his jaw dropped and his heart sank when he reached the wall.

“By the Nine!” he exclaimed to himself.

Before him spread an army of about one hundred and fifty men. They held no specific formations like an organized army would, but it was a larger force than Fenrarne had expected to face. He found himself ducking below the wall in order to avoid the onslaught of arrows that clacked off the parapets and lodged into the wooden overhang above them. As Fenrarne looked back over the wall, he saw the men parting to allow others with a battering ram through to the front gate.

 _We aren’t going to win this fight,_ Fenrarne suddenly realized as he looked over the large force below. He and the other men had been trained well for battle, but there was no way that their small force was going to overcome the army that stood at their doorstep. Fenrarne found himself growling in defiance at the thought. They may not be able to win, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. After another volley of arrows came sailing through, Fenrarne popped up with the others and began firing at the men below.

As he dropped again below the wall for cover, Fenrarne suddenly noticed that the men he had seen fall earlier were still lying on the battlement with arrows sticking out from them. Blood ran down their bodies, pooling beneath them. No breath seemed to escape their lungs. They were dead.

“I thought this was a test!” Fenrarne shouted.

“It was supposed to be,” answered Wulf. “We thought it was until some of the men were killed. We sent a message for reinforcements, but we haven’t heard anything back yet!”

Fear filled Fenrarne’s chest as the realization dawned on him. This wasn’t a test. They could actually be killed. And they were completely out-manned. Unless the reinforcements made it, they wouldn’t make it through the night. Panic began to rise in his chest.

 _No!_ He couldn’t allow himself to sink into despair. This was what he had signed up to do; to protect the city and the people within from those who would hurt them. As he looked at the men, he saw the same realization and resolve spread across their faces as well. They may be outnumbered, but they wouldn’t back down. With new resolve and vigor, Fenrarne began to rain his arrows down on those who threatened him and his city.

“Concentrate your fire on that battering ram!” barked Captain Wulf. “We don’t want them to make it to the gate!”

Fenrarne and the others quickly adjusted their aim for the large beam of wood that was being carted through the enemy’s ranks. Their arrows dropped enough of the men carrying the ram that it brought its procession to a halt, yet others swiftly jumped in to fill the missing spots. Though they were able to slow its progress to the gate, Fenrarne and the others wouldn’t be able to stop it.

“Retrieve the oil!” Captain Wulf commanded. “Virgerd, I want you to take five other men with you to start supporting the gate. Get a barricade set up to hold them back!”

The men scrambled to fulfill their tasks. The enemy’s battering ram had already made a couple of hits on the gate by the time some of the men returned with the oil. It was promptly poured over the attackers below and screams rent the air as skin began to melt and burn from the heat.

“I need more oil down there!” shouted Wulf. “I want that area doused in it. Gjalund, I want you and the rest of your squad to be ready to fire flaming arrows on my command.”

Several braziers of coals were lined along the top of the wall, along with a bucket of pitch that Fenrarne and his squad made their way to. Each of them dipped the tips of their arrows in the pitch and the coals as the other men continued to pour the oil over any who approached the gate. When Captain Wulf was satisfied with the amount of oil, he signaled for the men to quit pouring. Fenrarne positioned himself and waited for the captain’s signal. After a time, another group of men got the courage to pick up the battering ram and continue their assault on the gate.

“Fire!” commanded the captain. Fenrarne and the others drew their bows back and let the flaming arrows fly into the oil-soaked ground. Flames instantly leapt up, searing every man within range of its terrible heat. Burning bodies ran away in pain and terror, and the force nearest the flames visibly stepped away. A cheer erupted from Fenrarne and the other men at the minor victory.

“Very good men! That should keep them back for a time. I want the rest of the oil to be used to keep that flame going. The longer we can hold them back, the more time to buy for ourselves.”

The men went to work to keep up the defense. They had finally made some headway, and now they had to keep it going. Those who weren’t making oil runs continued their barrage of arrows. After several quivers had been replaced and the oil had run out, the fire began to die out. When the last of the flames disappeared, the enemy resumed their beating of the front gate. Fenrarne did his best to keep men off the battering ram, but there were too many of them that would fill in another’s place. Soon enough, a loud crack filled the air as the battering ram made a much more successful hit on the gate.

“Sir, they’re breaking through!” called Virgerd.

“Everyone, regroup at the gate!” barked Captain Wulf. Once they had gathered together, Wulf stepped before the men.

“This is where we make our last stand. They’re going to be coming through that gate, and we’re going to be ready for them.”

“What about the reinforcements?” asked one of the men nervously.

“I don’t think they’re coming, son. Now, I need a line of archers in the front. When they make it through that gate, I want you to fire into their ranks as many times as you can before they get to us. The rest of you, I want you to be prepared to move forward and take over the fight. Archers, once you’ve fallen back, arm yourselves and join the rest of us. Am I understood?

“Yes, sir!” the men answered together.

“It’s up to us to hold these men back until other forces can be gathered. You’ve fought well. Continue to fight on. This is your duty and your honor. If we fall, may we all meet under the skies of Sovngarde in the Hall of Valor.”

The men nodded grimly and got into position. Fenrarne adjusted his spear and shield as he fell in line with the others. Anxiety and resolve settled on the group as they watched the gate shutter and crack from the force of the battering ram. The archers nocked their bows, each man waiting for the enemy to be exposed.

With one last crash, the attacking army burst through the gate and charged inside the walls. A volley of arrows dropped the first row, and several of the men behind them stumbled over the bodies. Another wave cut down more men. As Fenrarne watched the approaching army, Captain Wulf’s voice rose in command for the spearmen to move forward. The archers stepped back as Fenrarne and the others stepped forward between them and braced for impact.

Fenrarne moved his spear into position just in time to catch his first victim off guard, and the man soon found himself skewered through the throat. Fenrarne jerked the spear out and prepared himself for the full force of the enemy. Soon, the air was filled with the sound of shouting and screaming as metal met metal. Fenrarne managed to kill three more men before his spearhead was broken off. He ran the broken end through another man and pulled his war axe from his belt.

As the fight went on, Fenrarne was surprised to see how well he and the others managed to hold off the enemy. Luckily, their work on the wall had helped to lower their enemy’s numbers drastically, but there were still many coming through the gate. Fenrarne soon found himself shoulder to shoulder with Gjalund. They worked with great synchronization, and enemies fell before their blades.

Then, without warning, the tides of the battle turned. In quick succession, five of their men fell to the ground, never to rise again. Anger and fear shot through Fenrarne. He began to fight more ferociously. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and the adrenaline coursing through his body brought everything into focus. He made quick work of each man that raised their sword against him, his axe finding weak points in their armor.

But no matter how hard Fenrarne fought, his brothers continued to fall. He soon realized that he stood only with Gjalund and Captain Wulf at his side. Pain and rage filled Fenrarne’s entire being, and a vicious battle cry erupted from his mouth. He cut and he hacked into each man within reach. He twisted and spun through the men, creating a cyclone of death. Each strike fueled him, driving him onward. None of them could stop his ferocity. He would defend his city, his brothers. He would cut through each enemy if he had to.

He…had been run through with a sword. Fenrarne looked down at the blade protruding from his gut. Warm blood gushed from the wound, spilling over his armor. At that moment, he looked to see all of his brothers lying dead on the ground. Even Gjalund’s eyes stared emptily at him. With one last great burst of strength, Fenrarne cleaved his axe into the helm of the man that ran him through. The force of the strike burst through the metal and lodged into the man’s skull as he dropped to the ground.

Fenrarne then followed suit. He lay there for a time, looking at the carnage that littered the battlefield. So this was how it ended. The reinforcements never came. He had stood fast with the men he had come to call brothers, defending the city they loved. It wasn’t such a bad way to go. Then, everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

Fenrarne woke with a start, gasping for air. He looked around frantically to see where he was. The last thing he could remember was that he had been fighting and defending the city. The dead had been everywhere. Then he had been killed. He looked around, expecting to see the beautiful skies of Sovngarde but was surprised to see that he was in the exact place where he and the other men had died. As he scanned the landscape, he saw everyone else begin sitting up and looking around with the same confused looks on their faces. Fenrarne also noticed that the enemy army wasn’t around anymore, living or dead. Only he and the other men were strewn about inside the wall.

“Congratulations!” exclaimed a voice from behind Fenrarne. He turned to see Vilkas, Aela, Athis, and Farengar approaching.

“You have passed your test,” said Vilkas proudly. Everyone jumped up and formed into their separate squadrons.

“We…passed?” asked one of the men hesitantly.

“Yes, and you passed with flying colors,” congratulated Athis.

“Sir, with all due respect, I died. We all did,” stated Fenrarne. “What in Oblivion happened to us?”

“That’s a great question, recruit,” said Vilkas. “To answer simply, you faced the shades that we said Master Farengar would make for you, and we had him cast a spell over you to replicate death. We wanted the situation to seem as real as possible.”

 _Oh, it was real alright,_ thought Fenrarne. He could see the horror in the faces of some around him as they tried to wrap their minds around this new information.

“But, sir, we lost. How did we pass?” asked Adonato.

“This wasn’t designed for you to win,” piped in Aela. “We didn’t want you to win. Good soldiers and a good army don’t always win. Even some of the best fail. We knew that if we made it an even fight that you would conquer. What we wanted to test was your ability to stand strong together and fight to the end. And you did. Each one of you stood your ground and fought to the last man.”

“And that is what we need in this guard,” finished Vilkas. “We need men who will fight and defend no matter the odds. Now, head back to the barracks and get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ll find out what your new positions are within the guard. Congratulations, auxiliaries.”

With the dismissal, each squad made their way back to the barracks. Fenrarne and the others were silent on their walk back and even as they prepared for bed. Several different emotions were running through him as he reflected on what had happened. The greatest emotion, however, was shock. Shock that he had finally completed his training. And shock of the news that the entire battle he had just helped fight had been the test all along. It had felt so real. It wasn’t as if he had gotten stabbed and was just incapacitated. He had felt the sword rip through his flesh. Blood had poured from the wound. However, he was grateful to be alive. With those thoughts running through his head, he crawled into bed and promptly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Fenrarne and the others quickly got out of bed and got ready for the day. Each of them was excited to see what their new duties would be in the guard. Once each of them had gotten dressed, they made their way to the mess hall for breakfast.

“Last night was terrifying,” said Alethius once they had all been seated.

“It was,” agreed Kuvar. “I can still remember exactly how I died.”

“At least we’re actually all alive,” interjected Gjalund. “And we passed the test.”

“That’s true,” Alethius said.

“I’m just excited to find out where I’m going to be posted,” chimed in Fenrarne. The rest of the men agreed excitedly. Some wanted to stay within the city, some wanted to be assigned to road patrols, and others wanted to be stationed in other towns within the hold.

Fenrarne was one of the ones that wanted to be placed in another town. He loved Whiterun, but it was about the only place he had ever been. There was, of course, the trip through Helgen, but beyond that, he had spent most of his life in the city. He knew there was more out there, and he wanted to see it.

After breakfast, Gjalund left to gather the squad’s new assignments. Fenrarne and the others made their way back to the barracks while they waited for his return. He soon came back with several envelopes for each man. Fenrarne opened his eagerly, pausing to take a deep breath before he unfolded his paper. His heart began to race but then sunk when he read over his assignment. On the paper read, “City: Wind District; Northwest section”. Frustration welled in Fenrarne’s chest as he read on. Though he loved Whiterun, he was ready to go somewhere else.

Once he had finished reading, Fenrarne proceeded to pack his things to move to his new squad. He listened to yelps of excitement from the others as they read their assignments and started to pack as well. He tried to block them out as he packed in silence.

“So, what happened to you?” asked Bolund, breaking up Fenrarne’s thoughts. “Where are you going?”

“I’m staying in the city,” said Fenrarne bleakly.

“So am I!” exclaimed Bolund.

“Congratulations.”

“Why do you sound so glum?” Bolund asked.

After a moment, Fenrarne said, “I was just excited to leave the city. I was really hoping that they’d send me to a different part of the hold. I’ve spent my whole life here, and I’m just ready for something new!”

“I understand,” remarked Bolund. “I was hoping for a different assignment as well. But honestly, I’m just happy that I have this chance to serve. And, this will mean that we may still see each other!”

Fenrarne chuckled softly at the other man’s enthusiasm. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Bolund agreed. “If I wasn’t, we would both be a lot sadder.”

“That we would,” laughed Fenrarne. “Thanks, Bolund.”

“Happy to help.”

Fenrarne continued smiling to himself as he finished packing. Bolund had a point. It wouldn’t help if he had a bad attitude about staying in the city. He was now officially a guard of Whiterun Hold. He would be able to help no matter where he was stationed. Besides, he could request to leave the city eventually. It would all turn out just fine. With a lighter heart, Fenrarne gathered his things and left to fulfill his new assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry it's been a little while since I posted another chapter. I've had a couple of busy weekends, and I also had a lot of writer's block with this chapter. But I'm happy to finally post it!  
> So, here's a short video I wanted to share with you guys about how people trained with the bow in the middle ages, and it's very informative and cool (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvKJcxa8x_g). So if you're interested, check it out! Thank you all for your support! I look forward to hearing your thoughts. Take care!


	13. Eyes in the Night

Mid Year, 4E 196

Though he hadn’t been excited at first, Fenrarne managed to fall in love with his new position. There were many positive aspects of being in the city, one of them being the town square gatherings that were frequently held in the evenings. People would bring food and drinks to share while they sang, danced, and talked with each other for the evening. Fenrarne had enjoyed going to them ever since he was a child and was pleased to continue to go. In fact, his squad had provided light security while the event was being held just last night.

The next morning, Fenrarne heard several raised voices coming from a nearby guardhouse as he arrived for duty. He came around the corner of a building and saw that a small crowd had gathered and were all clamoring to speak to his platoon leader, Praefect Kyrnil. He was attempting to keep them calm and gather information about their needs, but Fenrarne could see that he was on the verge of losing his patience.

“Quiet!” shouted Fenrarne as he approached. The crowd turned in surprise at the new voice and went silent. Kyrnil shot a quick, grateful glance at Fenrarne before he continued.

“Everyone, we want to help you, but I need all of you to remain calm.”

“Some of our family members have disappeared!” shouted a woman from the crowd. The rest of the group shouted in agreement.

“When did this happen?” asked Kyrnil.

“Last night,” responded one of the men. “When the gathering ended my wife and I went to gather our children to take them home, but one of our little girls was missing! We stayed up all night searching through the city, but we couldn’t find her!”

“My husband disappeared as well!” reported another woman. The rest of the crowd erupted with explanations of family members were lost after last night’s event.

“Everyone, please!” shouted Kyrnil. “Quiet down. We will look into these disappearances, I promise you. I will inform the other praefects and put them on high alert. Now, if I could have a member of each family come and give a name and description of their missing family members, then I will be sure to give that information to the rest of the city guard as well.”

Fenrarne watched as the crowd broke up, and a small group came forward to present the information they had. Kyrnil made his way to Fenrarne as one of his assistants helped with the people. He gave a tired yet warm smile as he grasped Fenrarne’s hand.

“Thank you for your help,” he sighed. “I could hardly get a word in.”

“Ah, you didn’t need my help,” responded Fenrarne. “I can’t believe so many people have gone missing.”

“Aye. This has been the largest report we’ve seen yet. I’ve received word from other praefects that there have been disappearances in other parts of the city. That’s not too uncommon to hear, though not enjoyable either. But I don’t know about this. That’s a lot of people to disappear together in just one night.”

“Do you think it means something?” Fenrarne asked.

“I don’t know. It just seems a little suspicious to me that so many people would go missing at once without a cause. But I’m just not sure. Anyhow, go ahead and return to your post. Once we get more information then we’ll set up shifts to help solve this problem,” replied Kyrnil.

Fenrarne made a sharp salute and continued on his way. He eventually made it to the guardhouse, and his squad leader, Denel, marched over as soon as Fenrarne walked in.

“Where have you been, Blackthorn?” Denel growled. “You’re late for your post!”

“My apologies, sir. I saw a large group gathered at Praefect Kyrnil’s guardhouse, and I stopped to see what was going on,” answered Fenrarne.

“And what was going on?”

“A large number of people have gone missing since last night, sir. Praefect Kyrnil is gathering information and will inform us of the details when he’s done.”

“Alright, but don’t let it happen again,” Denel growled.

“I won’t, sir. My apologies.”

Denel acknowledged his apology with a nod and motioned for him to continue to his post. Fenrarne found his squad-mate, Stentus, and made their way to the streets. They made some small talk as they patrolled the streets, and Fenrarne explained what he had heard on his way to his shift in greater detail.

“So, Praefect Kyrnil thinks that someone is behind all of the recent disappearances?” asked Stentus.

“That’s what he seems to think.”

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t know. It makes sense. There were a lot of people that disappeared together. But this is also a big city. Some of the people were just children, and I think they most likely just wandered off and got lost.”

“I hope so,” said Stentus.

They finished their patrol around noon and made their way to the mess hall. They ate their meal with the rest of the squad and then returned to the guardhouse on Denel’s orders. Fenrarne was surprised to see that the entire platoon had gathered together as Praefect Kyrnil stepped forward to address them.

“Attention everyone. We have received news that several people have gone missing after last night’s gathering, and we have been asked to investigate.” A low hum rose from the guards with the announcement. A few even asked for more details. “The only other information that we have been given is who the missing persons are along with a brief description of what they look like. I regret to say that we have no real leads with this investigation. Regardless, we will organize two investigation teams to lead this operation. Squad leaders, I want each of you to choose two men to make up these teams. Once you’ve picked them out, send them to me for further instructions.”

Denel turned and scanned over his men. “Adventus and Fenrarne, go and report to Praefect Kyrnil.”

They saluted and pushed through the crowd till they reached Kyrnil. Once everyone had gathered, Kyrnil continued his orders.

“Alright you lot, as you know, you will be split into two teams for this investigation and work on alternating shifts. This means that when your team is on duty you will divert all your time to investigating these disappearances. When you aren’t, then you’ll just continue your normal duties. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Kyrnil then separated them into their teams and appointed a man named Hrolmir over Fenrarne’s team and sent them to begin the investigation.

Fenrarne and the others followed Hrolmir a short distance before he paired everyone up and sent them to search different areas. Fenrarne was paired with Hrolmir who led him through the city.

“I figure it would be a good idea to start by visiting the families of those who have gone missing and get a statement,” said Hrolmir. “It might help narrow our search.”

They eventually arrived at one of the homes of the families, and a middle-aged woman answered the door. Her messy hair and red eyes revealed the stress she was under, and Fenrarne’s heart broke at the sight.

“Hello, ma’am. Are you Margarte?” asked Hrolmir.

“I am,” she replied.

“And is your son Horik?”

“Yes! Do you have news about him?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Hrolmir. “We don’t. We actually wanted to ask you a few questions to begin our investigation.”

Margarte’s face fell, but she kindly invited them inside. The home was small but quaint. A low fire crackled in the hearth, and the smell of baking sweetrolls wafted from a small oven near the hearth.

“Could I interest you boys with anything to drink? We have mead, ale, milk, water. Whatever you like.”

“I’m alright. Thank you,” answered Hrolmir.

“I would like some water, please,” Fenrarne responded. After she brought the drink back, she invited them to sit at the small family table.

“Now, how can I help?” asked Margarte anxiously.

“We just have some questions for you to help us in our search for your son,” explained Hrolmir. “Now, do you remember the last place you saw him before he disappeared?”

“Not exactly,” she answered. “I guess the last thing that I remember was him asking for more sweetrolls, which I told him no. Then I told him to go play a little while longer because we were going to leave soon, and he scampered off. That’s the last time I remember seeing him. When we got ready to leave, I called for him, but he never came. We searched everywhere we thought Horik would be, but we couldn’t find him. It’s not like him to just wander off. He’s pretty scared of the dark, and he usually likes to stay near the fire.”

Fenrarne wrote a few notes down as Margarte talked. He couldn’t help but think of how awful it would be to have your son just disappear, or how terrifying it would be to be the child that was separated from their parents.

“Does Horik have any close friends that he might’ve gone to see?” asked Hrolmir.

Margarte’s response was interrupted by a knock at the door. She jumped up to answer it and squealed in surprise. At the door stood another woman and two small boys, one of which Margarte had pulled into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry for the scare, Margarte,” the other woman said. “I know a lot of people have gone missing lately, but we just found him hiding with Niels in the pantry eating sweetrolls and boiled crème tarts.”

“Thank you so much, Rona!” Margarte exclaimed. “And you,” she said to Horik, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

As Rona left with her son, Fenrarne and Hrolmir stood to leave.

“I’m glad to see he’s home,” said Hrolmir.

“Yes! Thank you so much for coming to help. I appreciate it so much! Are you sure I can’t send you boys off with something? A sweetroll perhaps?”

“You’re too kind ma’am. We’re alright,” answered Fenrarne.

“Alright. Well, good luck with your search! I’ll pray for the gods to help you.”

“Thank you, ma’am!”

As they walked away, Fenrarne chuckled as he heard Horik ask for a sweetroll, as well as Margarte’s swift reply that he’d had plenty already. His heart was lifted just knowing that someone had been returned home.

“I hope more of the cases end up like that,” said Fenrarne.

“Me too.”

Hrolmir didn’t sound as hopeful.

 

* * *

 

A few weeks had passed, and people still continued to go missing. Fenrarne and some of the other investigation teams had some success in finding missing people, but they were no closer to finding who was responsible for the rest of the disappearances. A tangible fear had begun to lay over the city like a thick, damp cloth, suffocating the hope of the people. Jarl Balgruuf had even placed a curfew over the city to help ensure the safety of the people and catch the culprit.

It was on a night like this that Fenrarne found himself patrolling the streets of Whiterun with his squad mate, Gunder, and not a soul was in site. Though he understood the importance of the curfew, Fenrarne was still deeply unnerved by the stillness of the city. The only distinguishable sounds he could hear was the wind, the creek running through the city, and the crickets.

Then, out of the darkness, an agonizing yell ripped through the air near Fenrarne and Gunder. They raced through the streets towards a nearby alleyway, meeting up with a few other guards along the way. Once Fenrarne had reached the opening of the alleyway, he saw four figures gathered together in the center, two of which were perched over the others. Fenrarne moved to rush in but was stopped in his tracks. As the two figures turned to look at those who had gathered, Fenrarne saw golden eyes staring back at him. Then suddenly, they disappeared into the darkness.

“What in Oblivion…?” exclaimed one of the guards. “What was that? Where did they go?”

They made their way cautiously into the alleyway towards the bodies. When it was clear that no attack was coming, they rushed to assess the situation. At the center of the alleyway lay two city guards. Each of them had a large gash in their throat that was still seeping fresh blood. As they removed the helmets to identify the guards, Fenrarne was horrified to look into the dead eyes of his squad mates, Denel and Aldis.

“No,” he whispered.

Each of their faces was fixed with expressions of shock and terror. Fenrarne stared in disbelief till he noticed something clutched in Denel’s hand. He reached down and found what seemed to be some kind of broach. Stepping into the lights of the streets, Fenrarne was able to see that the broach had some fearsome horned beast carved into its golden surface.

“Hey, come look at this!” Fenrarne shouted to the others.

“What is that?” asked one of the guards as they gathered around.

“It looks like some kind of broach,” answered Fenrarne. “I don’t know what this creature is though.” Everyone looked just as confused as he did.

“Well, we had better get them out of here,” suggested another guard, nodding toward Denel and Aldis.

“We can take them,” offered Fenrarne. “They’re members of our squad.”

Pocketing the broach, Fenrarne returned to the bodies with Gunder and brought them to Praefect Kyrnil’s guardhouse. As they approached, a guard stationed nearby stepped forward to investigate.

“Who goes there? What’s happened?” he asked nervously.

“We’re guards as well,” Fenrarne responded. “We need to see Praefect Kyrnil. Two of our squad mates have been killed.”

“I’ll get him right away. Come inside.”

Fenrarne and Gunder followed the man. He and others in the guardhouse helped to clear a couple of tables to place the bodies on. He then disappeared into the night and returned with Praefect Kyrnil.

“What’s happened here?” the praefect demanded urgently as he entered the guardhouse.

“Sir, we were on patrol when we heard a loud shout,” reported Gunder. “When we made it to the source of the noise, we found Denel and Aldis dead. Two other…people, were there as well standing over their bodies.”

“Did you apprehend them?”

“No, sir,” answered Fenrarne. “They escaped before we had a chance to do anything.”

“Damn! How did that happen?” demanded Kyrnil.

“I don’t know, sir. One minute they were there, and then they were gone.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly that, sir. I don’t know how to explain it differently. They looked right at us and then disappeared from sight.”

Kyrnil stared silently at his fallen comrades for a time before he spoke again.

“They were such good men!” he said more to himself than anyone else. “Did you at least get a good look at the culprits?”

“It was too dark to see them clearly, sir,” replied Gunder. “But, there was one thing we noticed.”

“Well…?”

“They had golden eyes that glowed in the dark,” finished Fenrarne.

Murmurs rippled throughout the room. Praefect Kyrnil’s eyebrows furrowed as he contemplated this new information.

“We also found this, Praefect,” Fenrarne said as he pulled out the broach. “I found it in Denel’s hand. He must have managed to rip it off his attacker before he died. I don’t know what it means though.”

Kyrnil took the broach and examined it closely. “Hmm. Neither do I. I don’t think that we’re going to get any more answers tonight. You two should return to your barracks and give the news to your squad.”

He stopped and wrote something quickly on a piece of paper before handing it over to Gunder. “You will be in charge of your squad until we can assign a new squad leader for you. This order authorizes that claim until we can find a replacement. In the meantime, get some sleep. We’ll be needing your help tomorrow to work on unraveling this mystery.”

Fenrarne and Gunder saluted and made their way back to their own barracks. When they arrived, they immediately woke their squad mates and gave them the news. After a brief moment of silence for their fallen comrades, Fenrarne proceeded to remove his armor and crawl into bed. As he lay there, images of his murdered companions filled his mind. He could see the horror in their eyes, the blood dripping down their necks. And when he finally fell asleep, his dreams were filled with golden glowing eyes watching him from every shadow, from every corner, waiting for their opportunity to kill him next.

The next day, both Fenrarne and Gunder were invited to attend the jarl’s court meeting to present the new information they had received from last night’s events. Fenrarne’s heart raced as the two of them ascended the steps towards Dragonsreach. He had been inside the jarl’s palace and had even met the jarl himself, but he hadn’t prepared himself for this.

“What do you think is going to happen in there?” asked Fenrarne.

“I supposed they’ll ask us about last night,” Gunder answered.

“Do you think they’ll know what the broach means?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or the glowing eyes?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think they mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do…?”

“Fenrarne,” interrupted Gunder. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” lied Fenrarne. Truthfully, he was extremely nervous, and he was a nervous talker.

“Okay. You’re just acting strangely.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

They walked the rest of the way to the jarl’s council chambers in silence. A guard escorted them into the chamber, announcing their presence to those gathered. At the center of the room was a long rectangular table surrounded by the jarl and his court. Jarl Balgruuf sat at the head with Irileth standing at his side. To the jarl’s right sat Proventus and Commander Caius, and to the left sat Olfrid Battle-Born and Farengar.

“Ah, you boys have made it. Please, come in,” beckoned the jarl. As the two of them stepped inside, Olfrid turned to address the rest of the court.

“Look, this curfew is all well and good, but we need to find out who’s behind these disappearances! We need guards searching every nook and cranny of the city!”

“And what do you think we’re doing, Olfrid? Sitting back and watching the city turn to panic?” demanded Commander Caius. “I have my men out searching day and night to not only find those who are missing but also to find the culprit. They’re doing their best!”

“Everyone, please! There’s no need to fight amongst ourselves,” the jarl interjected. “We are all concerned about this crisis. In fact, that is why I have invited these two gentlemen to join us today. This is Auxiliaries Fenrarne and Gunder. Commander Caius has informed me that they have gathered some information that could be helpful to our search. You may proceed.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Gunder. “Last night, my comrade and I were out patrolling the streets of Windy Moore when we heard a loud shout from nearby. We rushed to investigate the noise and found two of our squad mates dead with their murderers standing over their bodies.”

“Did you catch them?” asked Olfrid urgently.

“No, sir. They disappeared before we could even attempt the arrest.”

“What do you mean, disappeared?” Proventus inquired. “Do you mean they ran away and escaped?”

“No, sir,” answered Fenrarne. “They disappeared. One minute they were standing in front of us, and the next they were gone.”

“You can’t expect us to believe that,” scoffed Proventus.

“You can believe what you want, sir,” Fenrarne snapped. “But that’s what we saw. They disappeared without a trace.”

“Did you notice anything about them before they vanished?” interjected the jarl.

“We weren’t able to see much, but they were humanoid. And, their eyes gave off a golden glow in the dark,” Gunder responded.

“Golden, you said?” repeated Farengar.

“Yes, sir.”

“Could it be draugr?” asked Olfrid. “They’re eyes glow in the dark from what I’ve heard.”

“No, it couldn’t.” Farengar’s tone was flatter than the Whiterun plains. “Draugr’s eyes glow, but they glow blue.”

“And have you seen this for yourself, master wizard?” mocked Olfrid.

“Actually, I have. And you can find the same information in Bernadette Bantien’s book _Amongst the Draugr_.” Olfrid only glowered in response. “Furthermore, why would we suddenly have draugr within our city walls? As far as I am aware, draugr are buried within the tombs of their dragon priest masters. I don’t believe we have any such tombs here in Whiterun.”

“We also found this,” Fenrarne added as he removed the broach and laid it on the table for everyone to see, though Farengar snatched it up immediately.

“Do we know what it is?” asked Proventus.

Fenrarne began to respond but was quickly cut off by Farengar. “It’s a broach with the symbol of the Daedric Prince Molag Bal on it.”

“Molag Bal? How do you know?” questioned Olfrid.

“I’m the court wizard, Master Battle-Born. It’s my job to know,” retorted Farengar.

“So, we must be dealing with some kind of cult!” concluded Commander Caius. “But why would they want to kidnap several people throughout the city?”

“It’s quite simple, Commander. Molag Bal is the Daedric Prince of domination and enslavement. Kidnapping mortals to do his bidding is most of what he does,” replied Farengar.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Proventus, “but unless these gentlemen have anything else to add, none of this information clears anything up for us. In fact, I believe it only raises more questions. How do we know that this supposed cult is even a part of the disappearances? And who’s to say there’s even a cult in the first place? These two may have only stumbled across a couple of fanatics and nothing more. I don’t believe we should put all of our faith and hopes into this new turn of events.”

“I’m afraid I agree with Proventus,” sighed the jarl. “Nothing about this information helps us to discover who is behind the disappearances. All this tells us is that we have an additional problem on our hands. It’s still important information, but it doesn’t help our current situation.”

“Perhaps, my lord,” added Farengar. “But they could be related. I don’t entirely disagree with the all-wise Proventus. There isn’t a lot here to help us on the surface. But I don’t think we should be so quick to discard this information. After all, we don’t have any leads in terms of the disappearances. We have no other information to pit this against. I suggest that we go off of it for now and see where it gets us.”

“I agree with the mage,” Commander Caius chimed in. “This is the best we’ve got to solve this mystery, and we should see where it leads. It won’t be any worse than what we’re already doing.”

The jarl was silent for a time, deep in thought. Anticipation crackled in the air as everyone waited for his decision.

“Very well,” said the jarl. “We’ll use this new information to lead the investigation. Proventus, I want you to make sure that we have renditions drawn up of this broach to put around the city and to give to the investigation teams. If anyone has seen anything like this, we want them to bring the information to their local guardhouse. Also, inform them that anyone who has information will also receive a reward of 50 septims.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“And men, thank you for this information,” continued the jarl. “You may return to your duties.”

“Thank you, my lord,” responded Fenrarne as he and Gunder bowed.

They made their way back into the city and continued with their work. Fenrarne spent the rest of the day deep in his own thoughts more than normal. His responsibility to keep the city safe weighed heavily upon his shoulders. No matter how hard they searched, he felt that they were no closer to solving this mystery than before. And though he hated to admit it, he felt that Proventus had made a fair point. Last night’s discovery at the surface seemed to be a breakthrough with the recent events, but really, all it did was add more confusion.

“Well, that was all rather confusing, don’t you think?” said Gunder, interrupting Fenrarne’s thoughts.

“Yeah, it was.”

“What do you think of all this talk of daedric princes?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I think it makes the situation even more difficult. It’s like Proventus said. We don’t really know if they’re even involved. It’s just another problem that we have to worry about now.”

“I guess. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really change how we’re going about trying to solve the problem. It’s just a small addition to what we’re already doing. And, even if they aren’t related, if we get information about some daedric cult, then we’ll have one less problem on our hands.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” sighed Fenrarne.

The end of their shift finally came, and Fenrarne and Gunder returned to their barracks. Those of the squad that was there crowded around to hear the details of the meeting. Gunder began filling them in, but Fenrarne didn’t have the energy to indulge them. Exhaustion swept over him, and he promptly made his way to bed. Sleep, however, seemed to elude him at every turn. Try as he might, all he could see where golden eyes peering at him in the darkness. Those eyes that had held malice beyond anything he had ever seen. Fenrarne was sure that if given the opportunity, whoever they had seen last night would have happily killed every one of the guards that were there, if not more. With those thoughts running through his head, Fenrarne drifted into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! I'm so sorry that it's been so long since I've posted anything! I've had such a hard time writing this chapter for some reason, but I'm so happy to post it now. I hope you guys enjoy it, and I would love to hear your thoughts. Also, I've recently opened a Tumblr account, so you're welcome to follow me here https://nedearb96.tumblr.com/. If you have any questions about my story thus far, or any questions about my OC's, feel free to ask me there. Anyway, thank you so much for your support everyone! Stay amazing!!


	14. Evil Under Whiterun

Mid Year, 4E 196

As the week progressed, a day finally came that Fenrarne found himself actually excited to do his work. Most days all he felt was confusion, uncertainty and a weight that he couldn’t release. But today those feelings were put aside as he prepared to help guard the town square gathering that was being held that evening.

Some of the people questioned why anyone would still want to get together to celebrate, considering the recent events. It was true that the city guards hadn’t come much closer to discovering the source of the disappearances, and the jarl’s curfew was still in place. However, most of the people couldn’t stand the thought of not getting together for good food and drink. For many, this gathering was a time to forget their fears and take courage with family and friends. It gave them hope in a time of darkness.

So, the people continued their tradition of coming together for an evening of entertainment, and Fenrarne couldn’t wait for it to begin. Until that time, he had been assigned to work with a man named Quintus for the investigation. They had been knocking on doors for most of the day asking for possible information, and it was nearing time for them to meet with the other guards at the town square. On their way back, Fenrarne noticed the Hall of the Dead come into view, and he felt the sudden urge to go inside.

“Let’s stop there,” suggested Fenrarne.

“Why there?” Quintus asked.

“Why not? The priests in there would probably hear a lot of things, so they could have information.”

“I guess we can check. But we need to get going soon.”

They made their way into the Hall of the Dead and were surprised to find several of the workers and the priest Andurs gathered together within the main hall. A young man stood in the middle of them frantically waving his arms as he shared some experience with Andurs.

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, young Thrud here thought he saw something down in the catacombs,” rasped Andurs.

“It wasn’t just that!” the young acolyte exclaimed. “Whatever it was chased me too! I was performing my duties when I felt a presence down there with me, and it wanted me gone. I started to leave when I heard a rush, so I ran as fast as I could. It honestly felt like I only made it up here just in time!”

“Did you see what it was?” asked Quintus.

“I didn’t have a chance! I was too worried that I would get caught.”

“Would you mind going and having a look for us while you’re here? I would love to put these young minds to rest.” Though Andurs was trying to keep a level voice, Fenrarne could hear his concern.

“Yes, we can do that,” Fenrarne assured.

Andurs stood and led them to a large stone door set directly across from the entrance of the hall. “Be careful down there,” he cautioned in a low voice. “I don’t know what’s down there that scared Thrud so much, but keep your eyes open.”

With that warning ringing in their ears, Fenrarne and Quintus walked into the catacombs of Whiterun.

A shiver ran through Fenrarne as they descended the steps leading to the dead, and not just because it was cooler in the catacombs. Images of glowing eyes danced in the corner of his vision, and he thought he could still sense a malicious presence lurking somewhere in the dark of the musky tomb. He and Quintus each grabbed a torch at the base of the stairs and began to search. Several lit candles had been placed near each of the stone coffins, providing a dim light to aid in their search.

“What are we even looking for anyway?” asked Quintus.

“If they had known, they would have told us.”

“Yes, but how can we find something if we don’t even know what we’re looking for?” Fenrarne found himself gritting his teeth at his companion’s whining.

“Quintus, have you ever been hunting?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, it’s kind of like that. We need to find clues and traces of whatever was in here and track it down.”

“At least you usually know what you’re looking for when you’re hunting,” muttered Quintus.

“Ysmir’s beard! If you complain one more time, I’m going to hit you!” Quintus responded by grumbling under his breath.

The two of them eventually separated to cover more area. Fenrarne scoured the dusty ground for any trace of footsteps that moved differently than normal. However, hardly any footprints had taken shape on the dusty floor. And the ones that he did find gave no clues as to who left them.

Suddenly, Fenrarne’s attention was caught by a light wisp of air that slid over his cheek. His head shot up in confusion at the sensation. They were deep underground without any connection to the outside world, yet he had just felt a very light breeze. When he couldn’t find a source for the breeze, he dismissed it as his imagination. It was when he looked down, however, that he noticed a strange pattern in the dust at his feet. It had been spread out in a large fan-like shape, starting near a section of the wall to his right and spread outward.

He walked over to the wall and began to examine it, running his hands along its lengths feeling for any air. As his hand came to a column that separated each section of the wall, another light breeze escaped from some unseen crack and brushed his skin. He called for Quintus and searched more urgently for some kind of opening.

“What is it? What did you find?” Quintus asked excitedly.

“Feel right here.” Fenrarne grabbed Quintus’ hand and ran it along the edge of the column.

“What am I supposed to feel? The rock?”

“No. There’s air coming from there! Don’t you feel it?”

“No, I don’t. All I feel is stone.”

Fenrarne placed his hand along the edge again, but there was nothing. “There was a light breeze coming from here just a moment ago!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t your imagination?”

“I’m positive. I had thought that too, but I felt it again right here. And look at the ground. Can you see how the dust looks like it’s being blown out?”

After examining the ground, Quintus merely shrugged and started walking away. “I can see how you would think that, but I don’t think it’s really anything special. Come on. It’s time to go meet at the town square anyway.”

“You just want to eat and drink,” muttered Fenrarne.

“Maybe so. But it’s better than looking for something that probably doesn’t even exist anyway. I’ll be a lot happier with a belly full of mead rather than chasing ghosts.”

Fenrarne growled to himself but followed. He’d just have to come back and investigate later.

By the time they arrived, the evening festivities had already begun. Some people had even finished eating and were now dancing and singing. As they came into the firelight, Fenrarne noticed Gunder making his way to them through the crowd.

“You’re late.”

“This one led us on a wild skeever chase,” Quintus gestured towards Fenrarne.

“We stopped by the Hall of the Dead to see if Andurs had seen anything, and they had just had some weird experience that they wanted us to check on!” Fenrarne defended.

“Alright, it’s fine. Just get to your posts.”

Fenrarne shot a glare at Quintus then found his post around the fire. The hum of voices floated through the air as people ate and drank. Bards could be heard singing and telling stories of legends long ago. For a few hours, these people would forget their problems and worries. For now, they could sing and dance and enjoy a beautiful evening with friends and family.

And for a time, even Fenrarne was able to forget about his worries and concerns. He watched with a smile, getting something to eat and drink occasionally and laughing with those around him. But eventually, his mind returned to the crisis at hand. He remembered the strange things he had found in the cities catacombs and wondered what they meant. Did they have any relation to the events happening throughout the city, or did it stand alone?

While these thoughts raced through his head, Fenrarne noticed a strange figure standing on the outskirts of the fire across the way from him. The figure eventually stepped forward into the light to reveal a man. He stepped up to a woman and whispered into her ear. A blank look fell over her face, and she followed the man as he walked away. Alarm rushed over Fenrarne, and he quickly grabbed a couple of guards to follow him.

“Wait, what’s going on?” one asked.

“I’m not sure. I saw a man whisper something into a woman’s ear and they walked off together,” said Fenrarne.

“Really? That’s what has you worried? Fenrarne, they probably know each other. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

“Okay, that was a poor explanation. Look, I have a bad feeling about that man. And you didn’t see her face! She didn’t look excited or happy to go with him. Her face just looked blank and emotionless. I know I may just be paranoid, but we have to make sure she’s safe!”

“Okay. We’ll come with you. Just don’t make this into something it’s not.”

Fenrarne nodded in response and led them after the man and woman. He spotted the two of them rounding a corner of the street and followed quickly. They followed from a distance till the man and woman disappeared behind the backside of an abandoned house.

“Well, that’s strange,” said one of the guards.

“We’ve got to stop him!”

Fenrarne’s blood began to boil at the thought of what this man was going to do. He ran with the others to the back door of the house and quietly opened the door. He leveled his spear as he slipped into the house, searching for signs of life. He motioned for the others to search the rest of the house silently. The last thing he wanted was for the criminal to get frightened and kill his captive.

After a few minutes of searching, one of the guards motioned for the others to follow him. He led them to an open wardrobe, and Fenrarne could see that a fake panel at the back was slightly open. He slowly slid it open to reveal a set of stairs that led down into a tunnel.

“Go and get us some backup,” Fenrarne said to one of his companions. “We don’t know what’s down there, and we don’t want to get ambushed. Styrbjorn and I will go down there and scout out the situation. We’ll meet you back up here when we’re done.”

The man nodded and rushed off for help. Fenrarne then began to descend into the passageway. They followed a winding tunnel till they began to hear voices around a bend. Fenrarne peeked around the corner and saw several people gathering in a larger chamber. Most of them were dressed in a red and black tunic, and they gathered around the man that had just returned.

“Ah, what a pretty catch, Thaer! She’s perfect.”

“Look at those red cheeks. Reminds me of a ripe snowberry.”

“And what would you know about snowberries, Petrine? You haven’t eaten one of those in years.”

“So what? They’re still bright red like a snowberry! Looks delicious.”

Fenrarne felt his heart drop as he heard those last words. He turned to Styrbjorn and saw a similar look in his face.

“We have to do something,” whispered Fenrarne.

“We can’t! We’re outnumbered.”

“We can’t just sit by! They’re going to kill her!”

With that, Fenrarne gripped his spear tightly and rushed into the open hallway.

“Let her go!” Everyone in the room turned to face the new voice.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the esteemed guards of Whiterun,” said one of the men. Fenrarne figured he must have been the leader. He had an air about him that set him apart from the others.

“That we are,” answered Fenrarne as he cast a relieved glance at Styrbjorn. “And it seems that we’ve found the source of our troubles.”

“And what might that be?”

“You know damn well! You’ve been running off with our citizens, doing who knows what to them!”

The man’s arms spread wide in acceptance. “Guilty as charged. Though I have to say, we’ve been quite lucky that we’ve stayed hidden for this long. You got close to catching us a couple of times. A few of us have been a little sloppy.” His last sentence was directed to the others with a growl. “Nevertheless, here we are.”

“What do you mean we almost caught you? When?”

“Oh, I distinctly remember hearing your voice right outside our door only a few hours ago. I thought we were going to have to kill you. Luckily for you, you left before we had the chance.”

Fenrarne remembered the wall and the strange patterns of dust in the Hall of the Dead. “So you were the ones chasing that boy!”

“Absolutely! We were hungry, and he smelled delicious. It’s too bad he made it away. But it doesn’t matter. One of them will be down here again eventually.”

“What do you mean he smelled delicious?” asked Styrbjorn. “Are you a cult of cannibals?”

“Oh, absolutely not! Please don’t ever mistake us for something as repulsive as that!” responded the man. “No, we’re something much better.”

At that moment, Fenrarne noticed something different about those who were gathered.

They had golden eyes. It suddenly all came together. The disappearances, these creatures’ strange attraction to the smell of human flesh.

“You’re vampires!” Fenrarne’s voiced seethed with hatred.

 “Ah, he is a quick one,” the man taunted. “Right you are. And it’s just been lovely living here in your city! There’s plenty of food to go around.”

“You killed Denel and Aldis!”

“Who? Oh, you mean those city guards? Well of course we did. We couldn’t have them revealing our little secret.”

The man grinned, and Fenrarne snapped. He rushed forward to attack when suddenly he felt something come over him. He struggled to move but found that he couldn’t even turn his head. His entire body felt as though it had been turned to ice.

“Now, now, it’s terribly rude to attack your host. We wouldn’t want that happening, now would we.” Several of the others chuckled at his remarks. As he continued speaking, he circled Fenrarne slowly. “I have to admit, I’m impressed by your tenacity. You’ve searched the city as best as you could. You almost found the door to our home. And you come here with hopes of saving this poor woman, not knowing what was in store. Very brave.”

Fenrarne struggled with everything he had to start moving again. The fact that Styrbjorn had gone silent must have meant that he was under some spell as well. Fenrarne’s mind raced for some way he could get them out of this mess. Guilt washed over him as he realized that it was his fault that they were in this situation in the first place. If only he had waited for help.

“It’s too bad that none of your efforts are going to pay off in the end,” the man continued. “You’re going to die here, and we’re going to continue to feed on this city. And eventually, the time will come when we no longer need to hide.

“But enough of that. I’ll give you the privilege of seeing our handiwork up front.” He grabbed the woman and pulled her to stand in front of Fenrarne. Fenrarne tried to scream for him to stop, to take him instead. “And you don’t need to worry. You’ll come right after her.”

The man positioned himself behind the woman and pulled back her hair. Fenrarne screamed even louder for the man to stop, but no noise escaped his mouth. He strained with every fiber of his being to move, to do something! Nothing moved. He couldn’t even close his eyes. He sobbed, unmoving and silent, but sobbed nonetheless. The man had almost made it to her neck. Fenrarne could now see the horrible fangs in his mouth, and he fought harder to break the spell he was under.

Then, suddenly, he was free! An arrow hissed through the air and found its mark in the vampire’s shoulder. He squealed in shock and pain, reeling backward into the other vampires. With a sudden roar, two whole squads from the city guard poured into the chamber as Fenrarne regained his bearings.

“Kill them!” the man screeched, and the fiends sprang into action.

Fenrarne dashed forward and grabbed the woman, pulling her out of the way of the ensuing chaos. She too seemed to have been freed from the vampire’s spell as she started screaming in terror.

“Ma’am, it’s alright,” he assured her. “You’re free.” She looked around the room with a frantic, hunted look in her eyes.

“Ma’am, can you hear me?” She nodded in response. “Good. You need to get out of here. Follow that tunnel out and return to your home as quickly as possible.”

“I can’t! I’m scared! What if they catch me?”

“I won’t let that happen.” His voice was firm and determined, and he grabbed the woman’s hands tightly in response. “No one will harm you. Now run! Get to your family. I promise you’ll be safe.”

She squeezed his hands in return and whispered a “thank you”. Fenrarne watched her disappear through the tunnel before he turned to join the fray with a burning rage filling his entire being. These monsters were going to pay for the pain they had inflicted on the people he had pledged to protect.

His first enemy fell before they knew what had happened, a spear rammed through their gut. He turned quickly and knocked another enemy’s weapon from their hands before puncturing a hole in their throat. He spun with speed and grace between everyone who raised their blades against him, cutting each of them down in his fury.

Suddenly, he found himself face-to-face with the man that been the source of the terror within the city. He had managed to grab ahold of Fenrarne’s spear and gave him a swift kick to the gut. Fenrarne doubled over as he tried to catch his breath. He looked up just in time to see the man throw Fenrarne’s own spear at him. He barely managed to dodge the attack, then shot up with his axe in hand.

He was nearly to the man when once again he was stopped in his tracks.

“Do you really think you can kill me?” the man cackled. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with! We will destroy you and all of your kind! You will become the ones cowering in the shadows, and I will feast on your blood!”

The man then rushed forward for an attack, his blade raised high. Fenrarne strained again as panic coursed through his body. And then, something snapped.

_I WILL NOT DIE THIS WAY!!_

Sudden heat flashed through each limb, and Fenrarne propelled himself past his enemy’s weapon, ramming the man’s face with his head as hard as he could. He felt bone crunch against his skull, and warm blood splattered against the top of his head. The vampire shrieked in agony and renewed his attack. But Fenrarne was ready. Their blades clashed, each battling for the other’s death.

As the fight continued, Fenrarne started to notice small mistakes in the other’s strikes. Though he attacked with more ferocity, they were sloppy. Fenrarne, on the other hand, could feel his mind focusing. He noticed every little detail of his enemy’s approach and was ready for each strike. He knew his enemy would eventually slip up.

Finally, Fenrarne saw his moment. An extra wide swing from his opponent left him defenseless, and Fenrarne dashed forward, slicing the man’s stomach open as he passed. He heard the man’s sword clatter to the ground behind him, and he looked to see the vampire clutching his open wound. As he looked at Fenrarne, his eyes were full of pure malice.

“Congratulations, filth! You won this battle, but the war WILL be ours!” And without warning, he turned into a cloud of bats and flew out of the chamber.

As Fenrarne caught his breath, he searched the room for any more possible enemies. However, the rest were either dead or fleeing from the battle. Fenrarne sighed with relief as he sheathed his axe. He quickly went about helping the wounded any way he could. Tears filled his eyes as he saw a few of his friends that had been cut down, never to move again. He offered a silent prayer to Shor and hoped that their spirits would find their way to Sovngarde.

Now that everything had slowed down, Fenrarne was finally able to see who had come to the rescue. He was happy to see his own squad there, though so many of them had fallen in the fight. In fact, he realized that a large number had been lost on their side as well. He eventually found Gunder in the crowd and made his way over to him. They stood for a moment in silence, each looking over their fallen comrades.

“That was a stupid thing to do, you know. Confronting an enemy with no backup. You could have died.” Gunder’s gaze was somewhere distant, and he sounded more tired than he did upset.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then why did you do it?” Gunder asked sharply. “You could have been one of those faces lying there on the ground. Just like that, everything, over.”

“I know. It’s just…I couldn’t let her die.”

“And what if you had died, huh? You can’t save others when you’re dead yourself.” After a moment he added, “You don’t always have to play the hero.”

“I wasn’t playing the hero, Gunder,” Fenrarne snapped. “What did you want me to do? Stand back and let her die? After all we had gone through to try and catch whoever was responsible? After we lost Denel and Aldis? I’m sorry, but I can’t stand by to watch others suffer when I know there’s something I can do!”

“You didn’t have to stand by, Fenrarne! You just could’ve waited for help! We could have made a plan to save the girl and not have to lose so many doing it. It’s not just about saving the helpless and the innocent. You have comrades who need you to look out for them as well. A good leader makes plans that limit casualties for both the innocent and his own men.” Gunder released a sigh before he continued. “Look, I’m not trying to say that you were right or wrong to do what you did. I know you did what you thought was best. You just need to slow down sometimes and figure out the best strategy and not just run headfirst into a situation.”

“You’re right,” admitted Fenrarne. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. The important thing is that we’ve dealt with the problem. Now, did you learn anything about their presence here before we arrived?”

“We did. They’re the ones that were behind all of the disappearances. They kidnapped people in order to feed.”

Gunder shuttered physically at the thought of it. “Well then, I guess this was an even better discovery than we could have hoped for. But we can’t let our guard down. We don’t know if there are more nests throughout the city or not. I’ll inform Praefect Kyrnil about the situation.” Gunder began to walk away when he stopped and turned back to Fenrarne. “And by the way, thank you for what you’ve done here. It’s because of you that we were even able to stop this.”

“Thank you, Gunder.”

Fenrarne started to help those who had been injured to get out of the cavern as his mind raced. He wanted to be happy with what they had accomplished, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what the leader had said.

_“You have no idea what you’re dealing with! We will destroy you and all of your kind! You will become the ones cowering in the shadows!”_

He couldn’t fully comprehend what it meant, but the thought terrified him. Who was he talking about, and what were their plans? The worst part was that they had no prisoners to question. No way of learning more about these cryptic threats. All Fenrarne could do was keep his eyes and ears open and do his best to protect those around him. And, in the end, he was able to take some comfort in their victory. For now, the people were safe, and that was all that mattered to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! So, I didn't actually write this chapter all in a day. Chapters 13 and 14 were originally one whole chapter until I realized that it was super long. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter. Things are really starting to get interesting, so I'm getting really excited to keep writing. Also, you can find me on Tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nedearb96. Anyway, take care all!!


End file.
